


crooked love in a straight line down

by leighbot



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbot/pseuds/leighbot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You’d like him if you got to know him,” Liam whispers while everyone else finds seats as well.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I already know him,” Zayn responds.</i>
</p>
<p><i>“Seems like there’s a bit of </i>tension<i> between you two.”</i></p>
<p><i>Zayn rolls his eyes hard enough they hurt. “Like homicidal, maybe.”</i><br/> </p>
<p>Or, the studying abroad AU where they're all supposed to stick together but Zayn and Niall get off on the wrong foot. Zayn finds solace in his graffiti, a pretty American boy and a mysterious commenter on his art blog.</p>
<p>With side 'love at first sight' Liam/Harry and 'it's complicated' Louis/Eleanor/Nick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crooked love in a straight line down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liferuining_feels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liferuining_feels/gifts).



> Based on a wonderful prompt that I tweaked to the limit but sill managed to keep true to its core.
> 
> Thanks to my Sam and Zoe, who worked tirelessly on this with me until the last moment. All remaining mistakes are mine. Also, special mention to [macklesufficient](http://macklesufficient.tumblr.com/) who didn't know me and doesn't read 1D but still let me pick her brain regarding Shakespeare. I didn't use half of the amazing things she told me, but anything that sounds like it makes sense is practically a direct quote from her. The rest is gibberish and also my own.
> 
> Fair notice: the focus of this story is the dynamic between Niall and Zayn, but Zayn does date someone else for a time. Liam and Harry are practically in like at first sight and Louis is in a complicated, poly relationship with Eleanor and Nick. Both side pairings are briefly explored.
> 
> About 50% of the graffiti mentioned here exists in some form around my alma mater. [This](http://sa-voix.tumblr.com/tagged/crooked-love) is the inspiration tag on my tumblr for this story.
> 
> Title taken from Taylor Swift's IWYW, because this is truly a story of crooked loves in straight lines down.

 

**crooked love in a straight line down**

Move-in day is hectic all around Zayn: students and their families are barreling down the halls with carts packed full of bags, narrowly avoiding each other. Zayn’s stood in front of his dorm building, surreptitiously checking his paperwork for the umpteenth time to make sure he’s in the right place. Everything in America is weird, too many numbers in the address of his flat and too many intersections he’d had to navigate. The carpark outside his building is full and he’d had to park on a street downtown, leaving most of his things in the boot of his car and grabbing just his art supplies and computer case.

The foreign exchange initiative he’d been granted a scholarship for is intended to further his career when he’s out of school. A few dozen others are part of the program with him, forty to fifty students every year for the past decade having come to this same university in America. He’d been encouraged by the program directors to seek out his peers on the scholarship as well, the ‘home away from home’ aspect having made the whole arrangement more successful than they’d anticipated and ensured its continuation over the years.

He hears only American accents around him though, parents bustling past with their kids as they search for their specific rooms. Zayn doesn’t have his parents with him and he’s not typically good at navigating unknown spaces, so he casts his eyes around for someone who might be able to help.

He watches a lad around his age in the space between his dorm and the next, kicking a football around with his mates and laughing loud, clearly unconcerned with the mayhem around him. He’s wearing a nametag and a whistle, and Zayn shoulders his bags again, grits his teeth, and goes up to him.

“Erm, sorry, are you the advisor for this building?” he begins, and the boy’s head whips around, smile on his face when he sees Zayn.

“Hi, mate!” he says, voice high and eyes bright. His name tag reads ‘Hi my name is… TOMMO’ and Zayn’s surprised to hear his accent. “You must be one of my foreign exchange lads. I’m Louis, third year.”

“I’m Zayn, second year.”

“Right,” Louis mutters, digging in the pockets of his trackie shorts. The football comes whizzing near his feet and he stops it distractedly as he pulls out a notecard. “Zayn Malik,” he reads. “You’re in A303, so third floor up. Your flat mate is already here.”

“Ok, cool,” he says, trying to rein in his nerves. He hikes his art supplies higher on his shoulder, and goes to turn away.

“Hold on,” Louis says, and Zayn turns back to him. Louis holds out his hand palm up and Zayn stares at it for a moment before extending his. “This is for my mobile, use it anytime. First days in a new country are strange and I didn’t do it alone so neither should you.”

Zayn looks at the ink on the back of his hand, curling his fingers into a fist. “Thanks.”

“No problem, go unpack and I’ll come around once the madness has died down a bit, make sure you’re settling in.”

Biting his lip, he nods, turning and slipping his way through the people making their way up the stairs, remembering that the third floor is the second exit from the stairwell, and slipping out of the stairwell into the right corridor.

He notices how much quieter the hall is, less people milling around, and he counts the doorways until he’s right outside A303. It’s open and he peeks inside to see a broad-shouldered lad unpacking a duffle, one of the beds clearly claimed by dozens of neatly stacked piles of clothes.

He takes a calming breath and raps his knuckles on the doorframe, smiling when the boy turns around and grins. “I’m Zayn.”

“Hi, I’m Liam,” he says, stepping forward and sticking out his hand.

“A Midlands boy,” Zayn smirks, stepping inside and shaking his hand firmly.

“Guilty,” Liam says with a smile, turning back to his clothes. “Hope you don’t mind I took the bottom bunk?” He checks back quickly, smiling when Zayn shrugs and grins. “I think a lot of students are taking the bunks apart anyway. I’ll help you if you want to do that.”

“That’s fine,” Zayn agrees, swinging his bags on top of his bed. “Did you just get in?”

“Nah, been here a couple days. Started working in the lunch hall, so I got to come a bit early. I beat most of my stuff; mum’s boxes just came through. You ship your things?”

Zayn shakes his head and walks to the corner of the room, looking out the window at the still-chaotic jumble on the lawn. “No, I couldn’t find a spot to park in so I paid to park downtown. I hope this calms down soon, I only put an hour’s worth of change in there.”

“I can help carry things up when you pull around,” Liam offers.

He just shrugs in response and watches all of the mums and dads kissing and hugging their children goodbye, feeling a pang of homesickness already that he’d had to leave most of his family behind at the train station, his dad being the only one taking the trip with him to see him off at the airport.

Liam stands next to him by the window and follows his gaze. “Sucks,” he says, obviously having the same thoughts. “Oh look! Someone’s pulling out, I’ll run down and stand in the spot and let you grab your car. Hurry!”

Zayn barely has time to turn around before Liam’s dashing from the room. He lets out a startled laugh and grabs his keys from his duffel pocket, running down after him in time to see him dash into the spot, waving away a car when it slows down.

“I’ll be right back, Liam!” Zayn shouts and he gets a grin in response before dashing out to the street and jogging to his car several blocks down.

He’s winded when he gets there, slipping inside and starting it. He got the car on loan through a friend of his mum’s, and he lets it warm up a moment before easing it out of his parking spot, triple-checking he’s in the correct lanes as he pulls back into the dorm carpark.

Liam’s still smiling when he sees him, stepping aside and letting Zayn pull into the spot. He pulls open the boot and lets Liam help him, only protesting mildly when Liam grabs the heaviest bags first. They both nod at Louis when they pass him, where he’s loudly explaining to a student that Van Hoosen Hall is on the other side of the campus.

They’re almost up the stairs- Zayn clearly having a harder time than Liam, who’s barely breaking a sweat- when they hear a shout from the bottom of the stairwell.

“Oi! Lads!”

They both stop and look over, seeing Louis a flight below them.

“Pub night tonight, Holson Bar. Me and some mates are starting a society for us expats.”

Liam looks to Zayn before nodding down at Louis. “Sounds good,” he accepts. “We’ll see you tonight.”

~*~

Liam helps him take apart their bunks before he heads out for his run, Zayn rolling his eyes when he invites him along.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says, smiling when Liam grins at him anyway.

He watches Liam stretch for a moment before he jogs out, headphones tucked in his ears. He turns back to his bags, refolding his things carefully before tucking them into the chest of drawers they’re sharing. He doesn’t have much with him in the way of clothing- a couple of socks full of quarters for the washing machines from when he exchanged his money- so he hangs in the shared closet space only his leather jacket from his dad and his art supplies in their canvas bag.

His mum had thrown a fit when she’d noticed him packing them away, and he had told her he’d just by more in the States if he couldn’t bring his own. She’d relented with a sigh, even helped him roll his brushes in papers so they wouldn’t get damaged.

He’s got money set aside for paints and sprays, but he wants to lie low for a bit and get a feel for the area. The campus has a bit of tagging all over, but nothing that stands out or looks very seriously done. He wants to bring brighter colours to the bridges in the area, wants to tag his logos on all the walkways he passes. He likes when people see something they don’t understand and start talking about it.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by a knock on the door, a green eyed boy smiling as he sticks his head into the room.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he says, “Louis told me to drop in and introduce myself.”

Zayn notes the Northern accent and smiles, crossing over to him and holding out his hand. “Zayn, nice to meet ya, mate,” he says.

“How many of us Lost Boys are there then?” Harry asks, cheek dimpling. He comes in when Zayn steps back, looking around his room curiously.

“Your roommate from home, too?” he asks, noting the identical Union Jack flags Louis had dropped off in their room as a joke.

Well, Zayn had _thought_ it was for a joke. Now he thinks it might be more of a brand.

“Yeah, Wolverhampton. I’m from Bradford.”

“Cheshire,” Harry says, looking at the heavy books on Liam’s desk. “He’s studying law? Me too. Guess I’ll have to meet him later. Fit?”

Zayn laughs, rolling his eyes and moving on to his next box while Harry pokes around. “Ridiculously fit. He’s out for a run now.”

He feels like he should be bothered by Harry’s blatant nosiness, but he kind of finds the lad charming, watching as he grabs a second box and starts unpacking it, carefully placing the things on Zayn’s bed.

“You know,” he says, voice slow and syrupy. “I saw some other people flipping the bottom bunk bed frame. Makes the bed higher so you can have storage under it. I could help you if you’d like?”

Zayn thinks for a second that he’s never met two lads more eager to be helpful than Harry and Liam. He just shrugs in response, breaking down the two boxes and stacking them by the door to take out for recycling later. “That’s Liam’s bed, maybe when he gets back he’ll want to. Give you a chance to make your moves, Curly.”

Harry dimples at him again and Zayn sighs, already imagining how quickly Liam and Harry are going to hit it off.

~*~

It doesn’t take long for Harry to really make himself comfortable on Zayn’s bed, sitting with his back to the wall and long legs straight in front of him, feet hanging over the short edge as he flips carefully through Zayn’s comic books, babbling excitedly about the time he _swears_ he saw Sir Ian McKellen shopping at Asda.

Zayn’s reclining against his pillows, toes tucked under Harry’s knee like they’ve known each other forever. His laptop is awkwardly balanced on his stomach and his thighs, and he picks out his password carefully with the angle, setting his computer up so it syncs with the dorm’s Wi-Fi.

“It was hard to tell for sure, of course, since I only saw the back of him. But I heard him ask an employee if they carried prune juice, so I’m confident it was him. Gemma- that’s my sister- didn’t believe me so we walked up and down every aisle while mum finished the big shop and we didn’t find him. Mum was pissed and so was Gems but I saw Gandalf, so I win.”

Zayn’s giggling and shaking his head fondly, already succumbing to Harry’s easy charm and bright enthusiasm. “You’re a nutter,” he says, voice soft as he pull up his art blog online, careful to keep the screen pointed away from Harry.

It’s at that moment that Liam comes back in the room, breathing hard and sweating through his t-shirt from his hard run. He doesn’t notice them at first, bundling up his mp3 player and setting it carefully on the dresser.

The sudden tension in Harry’s form surprises Zayn. He hadn’t thought Harry- who was comfortable enough to poke through a stranger’s things and practically invited himself to stay- could be nervous, but a brilliant pink is painted on Harry’s cheeks and his eyes are comically wide.

“Told you he was fit,” Zayn hisses, shifting his laptop onto the bed so he can sit up and lean against Harry’s side. “Get it together, lad.”

Finally noticing Harry and seemingly unaware of any tension, Liam smiles wide and bright, stepping forward with his hand extended. “Hi, I’m Liam.”

For the longest moment Zayn’s ever lived through, Harry doesn’t move. He just stares at Liam’s outstretched hand, lips parted and cheeks growing darker.

“Erm, okay,” Liam says, not unkindly. He lets his arm drop and laughs awkwardly in the silent room. “I’m just gonna take a shower, clean the rank from this run off me.”

Zayn contains his laughter long enough to nod when Liam looks to him for reassurance, clearly concerned about Harry’s behavior. Though the second that Liam is out of the room and heading for the communal bathroom on the boy’s half of their floor, shower caddy in hand and towel over his shoulder, Zayn lets out a loud, high pitched giggle he’s sure he’s never made before. He almost startles out of laughing altogether but then Harry’s pinched and slightly constipated-looking face turns to him and Zayn will never forget this moment, ever.

“Shut up,” Harry hisses, both hands pushing back his curls as his flush recedes and his green eyes calm.

“That was just _awful_ ,” Zayn teases. “You didn’t even dimple at him. How are you gonna land him and sexile me if you can’t even smile for him?”

“I don’t know what happened,” Harry admits with a groan, pressing his palms to his eyes for a second. “Your roommate is _so_ fit.”

“I _told_ you,” Zayn grumbles, standing from the bed and grabbing his comics and computer, setting them out of the way on his desk.

“You did not,” Harry counters from where he is still sat on the bed. “You didn’t warn me to expect an actual bloody _Adonis_. I was expecting run-of-the-mill fit.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and smiles indulgently, hiccupping once from his previous giggles. Harry narrows his eyes at him.

“You’ve seen him now,” Zayn says. “And if you don’t go soon, you’re going to be here when he comes back. From his shower. In probably only a towel and still a bit damp.”

Harry scrambles to get up, nearly tripping over his own feet and braining himself against the edge of the dresser in his haste, though he catches himself at the last moment. He stops at the door where it’s still cracked open a bit. The noise from families still moving in has quieted a little, most of the rush of parents gone and making the trip back home. Harry stands, framed in the doorway and looking at him with a complicated expression on his face.

“Are you guys going to the pub with Louis?” he asks, fingers on the edge of the door.

At Zayn’s nod in confirmation, Harry’s expression turns almost determined and he leaves without another word.

Zayn feels like he’s living through the weirdest day ever- boys with too much eager spirit and too many hormones all piled together. This is going to be a long year.

He finishes setting up his desk the way he likes it, sorting his art supplies in the drawers similar to how it is back home. Only his tagging supplies are left, folded neatly in his small duffle that he uses. He can’t wait until he has a chance to explore a bit, scout for inspiration.

Places talk to him, tell him what colours they need and which they have too much of already. Zayn likes to listen.

Liam comes back as Zayn finishes tidying up his desk, wearing only a towel as expected.

“Is that lad okay?” he asks Zayn as he slips a pair of pants on under his towel. “Seemed a bit off.”

Zayn chuckles but doesn’t say anything, interested in playing Harry’s attraction close to his chest for now. He has a feeling it will turn out well for him in the end, knows he’ll need something to amuse himself for a bit.

He grabs his backpack from the post of his bed, swinging it onto his shoulders and slipping into his shoes.

“Where are you off to?” Liam asks as he pulls on a t-shirt, the neckline getting dark from his still damp skin.

“There’s a first-day seminar for my Shakespeare class,” he explains, wiggling his left foot to get the back of his sneaker to lay straight against his skin.

“They’re putting you to work already?” Liam bemoans, brushing the towel over his short, wet curls and tossing it in the laundry bin.

“It isn’t _technically_ required,” Zayn admits, flushing when Liam smirks at him. He knows he’s a bit of a swot sometimes, but he needs to keep up his marks or he can’t finish the year and he always has a tendency to slack off in the middle of the semester. He has to break from the gate on track this time. “But I can go to it instead of going to the seminar for the rest of the students tomorrow. The one about the summer reading assignment? So that’s a relief.”

Liam’s acknowledging grin is sheepish. “I didn’t actually read that,” and now it’s Liam’s turn to do some admitting, his nose scrunched near the bridge. “I’m not really one for reading if it isn’t something interesting.”

Zayn can understand that- he hates sculpting and wants to gouge his eyes out with screws when his previous art classes would have sculpting as a required session. He leaves his jacket behind, the August air warm enough for his walk. “Bye _Leeyum_ ,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks out, weaving his way through the students lingering in the hallway- meeting their neighbors or catching up with friends- and jogging down the back stairwell. He tries to stay on the track he’d memorized from his campus map, not wanting to pull it out and call any attention to himself.

The seminar is in one of the center campus buildings and Zayn’s dorm is on the north and as he walks, he smokes a quick cigarette, ignoring the ‘This is a Smoke-Free Campus’ signs he sees along the way. He pays note to the quick tag work he can see, just small initials and things like ‘Dave Was Here’ sprayed onto random blocks of concrete. He starts brainstorming all the different things he can do, pulling out his phone and snapping pictures of one of the bridges over the campus river; a dry bank underneath it would give him enough room to work with and the dark stone would be the perfect place to highlight some of his new, sharper colours.

Though he makes it to the seminar on time, he cuts it close. He hadn’t realised just how _big_ the campus is and underestimated the time it would take to walk what had looked so small on a map. He knows the statistics- the student body here is about five times the size of his Uni back home- but Michigan State’s campus was cut directly out of a forest, and the winding and shaded paths are beautiful but tricky to navigate and easy to get lost on.

There are still a few students trickling in, the auditorium mostly bare. He takes a seat in the third row, grabbing out a pen and his notebook and planning to wait quietly, get a feel for the people who are going to be in his class the whole semester.

Like always, though, Zayn can’t control himself when he has a pen and he starts doodling a bit, finding a perfect model in the blond lad in front of him. His hair is shaggy and messy under a bright green snapback, the strands almost curling where they lay against his neck with a bit of sweat from the humid Michigan air outside. His back is partially exposed by his sleeveless vest and his skin is the pretty mix of tanned and slightly sunburnt that only those who have fair complexions ever get.

Wanting his paints or coloured pencils to get the shade of his skin right, Zayn contents himself with sketching out the way his hair settles around the back of his snapback, his pen drawing thick, wet lines on his notebook’s edge.

He’s so absorbed in trying to get it exactly right- switching to pencil when the pen was having trouble capturing the stubborn cowlick-esque pieces near his ears- he almost misses the professor’s arrival, a pretty woman about his mum’s age in a smart pair of smart trousers and a simple t-shirt.

She smiles at them all and finishes her takeaway coffee quickly, tossing it in the bin and coming around to the front of her desk and perching on the edge.

Grabbing a folder from behind her and bringing it to her lap, she flips it open for a moment, scanning one of the pages inside, before she looks up at them again.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming. My name is Julia Blake. You may call me Professor, Julia, Blake or any combination of the three. I know today is a busy day for many of you moving in just now. I like to hold these little seminars on move-in day, as it gives the students an excuse to leave the crying parents behind.”

A polite ripple of laughter flows through the room, her calm demeanor dissipating some of Zayn’s nerves. He’s used to harsh professors like the ones he has back home, but he’d heard horror stories regarding the American Uni system and it’s a relief to see that Professor Blake, at least, doesn’t live up to legend.

“I’m currently in pursuit of my doctorate, so I’m a student as well as you. I understand the demands of multiple classes and multiples sources of homework and stress. I will require that _this_ class has your complete attention whilst you are in this room, as it is respectful and helps facilitate a comfortable learning environment for everyone.”

The class all sits up a bit straighter at that and Zayn knows he’ll have at least one class he enjoys this semester: he appreciates teachers that don’t act like they’re above the schooling system still.

“Our focus this semester is obviously Shakespeare. I petitioned to have the school name this class ‘Breaking Down the Bard’ but the joke didn’t fly with the Overlords.”

Zayn laughs along with the class, the last bit of nerves in his gut dissipating again.

“I expect you all to be familiar with the ‘Big Four’: _Macbeth_ , _Hamlet_ , _Othello_ and _Romeo and Juliet_. Is there anyone here who isn’t?”

“Great,” her ever-present grin grows broader. “Who is going to start our discussion on the four, then? We’ll do a breakdown of them until we run out of time or exhaust all the themes. Hint: we’re going to run out of time first, I only booked this for ninety minutes.”

The silence in the classroom grows somehow _louder_. Zayn starts to fidget a bit in his seat, never a fan of public speaking. His movements catch her eye and she raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t call for him to speak. She takes her eyes from Zayn and scans over the rest of the class.

“Come on,” she coaxes, “I know you guys are going to be my star students, you’ve shown up to something that wasn’t required of you.”

“Maybe,” a girl in the last row speaks up, all eyes turning to her, “our parents were just _really_ unbearable.”

She earns a laugh from the class and Professor Blake _tuts_ jokingly. “Now, now. Class rule: never get a bigger laugh than me.”

Settling with the sudden calming shift in the mood, Zayn picks up his pencil and purses his lips, sketching out the small smirk he’d seen on the blond boy’s lips when he’d turned to look at the girl in the back. The boy’s profile is remarkable, and Zayn accidentally tunes out the conversation until the buzz of the class settles down and he looks up, startled.

Everyone is looking at him.

“Sorry,” he says, trying for a sheepish grin but feeling his skin heat at the attention. He sends up a quick prayer that his summer tan on his already dark cheeks is enough to hide it.

“Tell us your name and where you’re from,” Professor Blake prompts him, clearly repeating herself.

“Erm,” he says, sitting up straight. “I’m Zayn. I go to school in the UK but I’m here for a year-long foreign exchange incentive program.”

“That sounds remarkable,” she says, all honest enthusiasm. “You seem to have missed our discussion on _Macbeth_ , but perhaps you’d like to give us your opinion on _Romeo and Juliet_.”

Her tone isn’t harsh but Zayn still feels a bit admonished and his eyes flicker down to those of the blond boy in front of him. He’s startled by the bright blue and spark of light in them, suddenly craving his water colours.

“Well,” he begins, casting his eyes around quickly so he can ignore the urge to sketch some more, “I’ve never particularly liked the play.”

He looks to the professor, but she just nods encouragingly.

Buoyed by her reassurance, confident he’s not going to be told he’s wrong for not liking it, he continues. “I just think it’s a bunch of silly kids who fall in love and off themselves. I don’t know, I’ve just never thought their love was believable.”

“Okay, thank you for your opinion,” Professor Blake says when he pauses. Zayn thinks for a moment he’s off the hook but she continues. “What was unbelievable about the love?”

Shocked a bit, Zayn doesn’t know exactly how to answer. Normally that statement is enough; people usually understand exactly what he means.

“I guess I just don’t appreciate how quickly Romeo moves on from Rosaline to Juliet. He goes to the gathering at the Capulet place looking for Rosaline and then he becomes wrapped up in Juliet because she shows him some interest and Rosaline hasn’t. Yet we’re meant to believe he loves Juliet enough to kill himself over her death.”

“Thank you, Zayn,” Professor Blake says, and he relaxes a bit in his seat. She looks around the room. “Does anyone have a different opinion?”

Zayn feels uneasy, wasn’t aware she’d ask for dissent. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken such a strong stance.

“I do.”

Both the professor and Zayn look to the blonde boy Zayn had been sketching, his hand in the air.

“Okay,” the professor prompts. “What is your name and where are you from?”

The blond boy stands from his seat, back still to Zayn. “I’m Niall, I’m from Ireland but I go to school in London for their music engineering program. I’m here for the exchange initiative also.”

“Thank you, Niall. Now, why do you not agree with Zayn?”

Being an artist, Zayn is often entranced with beautiful people. He’ll stare across crowded diners and parks at someone with nice cheekbones- will spend hours perfecting the brush strokes needed to exact the bow of someone’s upper lip- but he often finds that when someone speaks, they shatter the illusion he’d built up around them.

Niall is no different.

He turns to Zayn with a huge smile and a shrug of his shoulders and Zayn gets an instant tug in his gut that could be desire or distaste, he isn’t sure which.

“No offense, mate,” Niall starts, which is hardly a good sign.

Distaste, then. Definitely feeling distaste in his core. That’s never a great way to begin.

“I just think you’re being a bit harsh on the characters. The concept of true love or ‘love at first sight’ is used as a literary device.”

Bristling further and feeling the blood rush to his cheeks again, Zayn bites the tip of his tongue to stop from saying something sharp. He’s well-aware of it being a _literary device_ , thank you. He doesn’t need a pretty Irish boy to school him in literature.

It isn’t as if Zayn _volunteered_ to share his opinion. The pride that his mum always warns him about it flowing through his veins and making him feel hot throughout, like fire was flicking at his very core.

“The whole play _shifts_ when Romeo meets Juliet, yeah?” Niall continues, glancing at Zayn before turning his shoulders and addressing the rest of the students. “The writing gets lovelier and the feelings become more pronounced. True love is being used to further the plot. There are ghosts, witches and fairies in his other works but nobody actively hates on those fantastical elements.”

Clearly feeling emboldened, Niall gets a bit louder and more energetic. Zayn hopes no one can see the annoyance on his face- he doesn’t want to be known for his attitude- but he’s quite over having his opinion torn to shreds over a play he doesn’t care about one way or another in all honesty. It isn’t like it’s _Titus Andronicus_ or something.

“Critics just like to hate on young people because it’s easier than considering youth’s opinions relevant.”

Zayn’s probably noticeably red by the time Niall stops speaking and looks over at him; no amount of his father’s heritage can keep his mum’s flush from his from his cheeks when he’s on the spot like this. His annoyance tips messily into sullen anger and he crosses his arms, looking up from his seat where Niall’s stood in front of him.

“That’s your opinion,” he offers, knowing the sulk is clear in his voice.

In fairness, Niall does look a bit taken aback like maybe he hadn’t meant to be so harsh. Zayn refuses to feel sympathy for him when Niall’s face turns red, too. The cocky frat boy attitude is finally dropping and Zayn can’t remember why he’d wanted to ever sketch him in the first place.

“Yes, it is,” Niall states simply, turning back to the front and facing the professor, who’s looking at them both with a slight frown.

“Thank you _both_ for you opinions,” she stresses, motioning for Niall to sit down and affecting a smile again as she shifts on the edge of the desk, turning to the class at large. “Now, moving on to a potentially less controversial play: _Othello_. Who here can tell me the central theme…?”

~*~

The relief Zayn feels when the sun sets and the air cools that evening isn’t enough to calm him. He’s been bitching to Liam for the last two hours since he got back from his seminar, only quieting when Liam had practically pushed him to the showers and told him to get ready for their pub night with Louis.

“It’ll make you feel better,” Liam had said, hands firm on Zayn’s shoulder as he’d picked up his shower caddy and a towel, plus a change of clothes because he was _not_ interested in walking down their hallway in just a towel like Liam had earlier, thank you very much.

It hadn’t made Zayn feel any different, though he’d kept his snarky comments to himself afterwards and had let Liam pick out an outfit for him to wear, a pair of loose denim trousers that Zayn normally only wore when he was painting- a fact which was evidenced by the streaks of dried paint along the legs.

“Makes you look cool,” Liam had encouraged, watching Zayn pull a tight black t-shirt over his head and slip into his leather jacket.

“I always look cool,” Zayn had replied with a smirk, faking bravado to cover the hurt his pride had taken earlier when the pretty boy had torn his idea to shreds and made him feel like a complete tool in the process.

They’re making their way through the downtown area when the sun slips lower to the horizon, long shadows cast across the street in the twilight as they follow Louis’ vague instructions.

“He _does_ realise every awning in this town is green and white, yeah?” Liam jokes, pulling out his phone and tapping in the address for the pub. “I mean, they’re the school colours and this city seems _really_ into their school.”

“American football, mate,” Zayn mumbles around his cigarette, turning his head to blow his smoke away from Liam’s face. “They go nuts for it.”

Nodding, Liam waits for his phone to pull up the map. “Holson Bar,” he says when the map finds it, directing them across the street and further another two blocks until they see the marquee sign proclaiming they’ve arrived at their destination. They slip inside after Zayn puts out his cig, scanning the bar for Louis.

It’s surprisingly dark for a pub, the windows blacked out and the only sources of light the sconces on the walls. They find Louis easily enough, a chalkboard on the wall over his table proclaiming ‘Tommo’s Society for Wayworn British Patriots!’ in huge, block lettering.

Laughing when Louis sees them and waves them over with a near-manic grin, they stick close to each other and pick their way around the surprisingly packed room.

“Lads!” Louis calls to them from his spot in the back of the booth, a decent-sized group of people pressed in together. “Hey, oi!” he shouts to the rest of the group, getting their attention. “This is Liam and Zayn; let’s welcome them to their new home away from home!”

A ‘huzzah’ goes up around the table, people lifting their drinks in salute before taking a swig. Liam pulls up chairs for them both from a nearby table, settling into his backwards and looking around at everyone with a bright grin.

“Lads, this is the gang. We started this society quickly after term started last year, needing to hear our mother tongues to resist the pull of American football and their bad habit of calling ‘crisps,’ ‘chips’.” Louis names the people off that are all pressing around the table, about a dozen in total, though Zayn loses track quickly.

He hopes there isn’t going to be a quiz.

Noticing a lot of interested glances towards Liam’s biceps- bulging a bit in his tight-sleeved t-shirt- Zayn smirks. Trust Liam to be able to pull with no effort, though Zayn can’t blame anyone for their interest.

Oblivious to his admirers, Liam stands and turns to Zayn with a smile. “Want a soft drink?”

“They don’t card here if you’re from home,” a girl offers, leaning over her friend so they can hear her above the sound from the crowd.

“I’m good with water,” Zayn says to Liam, who grins and slips over to the bar.

Zayn watches him lean his hip against a stool as he talks with the bartender, her smile radiant as they speak.

“Your boyfriend’s pretty fit,” the same girl says and Zayn turns to her, laughing.

“No, no. Just roommate, m’afraid.”

“It’s early yet, there’s still time,” she teases, straightening up and sticking her arm out. “I’m Jade, m’pretty sure you got lost in the introductions around the second Nick.”

“There’s two Nicks?” Liam asks as he settles back in his chair, still straddling it backwards, and passes Zayn his water.

“One goes by Grimmy, you get used to it all,” Jade smiles.

The girl between them, who had been paying particular interest to Liam, leans in a bit as well and Zayn’s caught by the sweet lemon-y smell in her hair. “I’m Jesy,” she offers, shaking Zayn’s hand first though she doesn’t take her eyes from Liam.

The four of them scoot their chairs a little closer together, huddled a bit as Jade and Jesy break down the group dynamics for them. They’re all progressively getting tipsier, Louis’ laugh bright and airy over the din, and Zayn watches as the girls point everyone out.

“You know Tommo, obviously. The tall lad next to him is Grimmy and the pretty brunette on his other side is Eleanor. Louis and El started dating from the womb or something and then Nick came along two years ago. We’ve yet to figure out if Louis’ cheating, if this is the most open relationship ever, or if they’re all poly. It’s also equally likely they all hate each other. Either way, they’re all hella interesting and we’re sometimes starved for entertainment.”

Jesy points out the rest of Grimmy’s friends, adding, “They’re all in their final year here and having existential crises about the future. It’s all very melodramatic and delicious. They’re on the campus radio crew; make it feel like we’re back home sometimes.”

“What year are you all in?” Liam asks, stirring his straw in his drink absent-mindedly.

“We’re sophomores, but we’re here the full four years,” Jade explains last. “Found each other on a blog site before room assignments went out and we stumbled upon these fools one day when we were chasing down mushy peas.”

“Haven’t been able to get rid of them yet, then?” Zayn teases, before excusing himself to go to the bar and grab a new round.

While he waits at the bar for the beers Liam and the girls had indicated they were ready for, Zayn looks around the pub. It’s somehow even more packed than when he’d walked in, some football match on drawing in the English crowd. He declines a tray, fitting the bottlenecks between his fingers and carrying the four bottles to the table, passing them around.

Something happens on the telly and half of the table cheers, Louis tucking Eleanor under his arm and pressing a kiss to her temple as she claps. Nick looks bored but fond as he glances at them and Zayn suddenly understands what the girls had meant by being entertained. It’s intensely fascinating and Zayn has a sudden need to sketch them out. He imagines the continuous chain they form: the tips of Nick’s fingers tapping against the tabletop, his other hand clearly resting on Louis’ knee; Louis with one hand near Nick’s out of sight, his other still gentle on Eleanor’s shoulder; Eleanor’s one hand fiddling with Louis sleeve while her other runs through her hair, pushing it back from her face.

It’s got to be a complicated dynamic sometimes but they look so happy at this moment and Zayn tries to keep the image in his mind for his sketchbook later.

Louis’ attention is dragged to the front of the pub when the door goes, the clanging bell barely audible over the din of the footie fans. Zayn and Liam both turn to look, watching Harry slip through the crowd towards them. He’s certainly dolled himself up for tonight- and Liam in particular- wearing possibly the tightest black trousers Zayn has ever seen and a flowy white blouse on that Zayn’s half-convinced was purchased in the women’s department. His shirt is unbuttoned to his navel, summer-tanned skin and dark tattoos on display.

There’s another lad behind him, but Zayn can’t get a good look at him at the angle he’s in, so he turns to look at Liam instead. Liam’s eyes are wide and his drink is in his hand- halfway to his lips where he’s frozen and watching Harry get closer.

Zayn smirks, grabbing his own beer bottle and taking a sip, wiping the condensation from the glass onto a napkin.

“You look nice,” he teases when Harry draws up behind them, a hand resting on the back of his chair as a round of ‘hellos’ start up again.

“New lads!” one of Grimmy’s friends calls out, another ‘huzzah’ going up as the group’s progressed much closer to drunk than they’d been when Liam and Zayn had arrived a half hour before.

Harry says hello back, listening intently to Louis’ rambling introductions. The lad he’s with pulls up a couple of chairs for them, though Zayn isn’t even sure where he finds them. There’s hardly room to _breathe_ in here, but Zayn shifts his chair closer to Jesy and Liam follows suit, Harry settling in on Liam’s other side and his friend sitting as well.

Zayn has to do a double-take when he sees the boy’s face, Niall looking at him with a matching look of surprise.

“Hey,” Niall says, recovering first and leaning over Harry’s lap a bit so his voice carries. “No hard feelings about earlier, yeah?”

Liam looks between them, eyebrows raised. Harry just looks confused.

“You two’ve met?” he gathers, turning to face Niall.

“We were both in the Shakespeare seminar earlier,” Niall explains, sitting back in his seat.

Zayn rolls his eyes and sees Niall flush a bit, still annoyed with him as well.

“Guess we can’t move on from it, then,” Niall says, pushing back from the table and stalking over to the bar.

“Everything gonna be okay, lads?” Harry asks, worry in the crease of his brows.

Zayn shrugs, good mood instantly gone. He’s still a bit embarrassed, is the thing. He doesn’t want the boy he’d been interested in and who had ended up humiliating him in class to be a part of this ‘home away from home’ he’d been promised.

“We’ll all be fine,” Liam answers instead, wrapping an arm around Zayn’s shoulder. “You wanna go?” he asks in a low tone, words pressed directly into Zayn’s ear so no one can overhear.

“I’m fine,” Zayn says, shrugging off the arm and downing his beer. “I’m absolutely perfect.”

“ _Yeah,_ you are,” Jesy agrees from his other side, clearly not having picked up on the tension.

She’s flushed pretty from the alcohol, piling her hair into a knot on top of her head, and Zayn watches as she pushes back from the table

“Alright, lads,” she says as she stands, “Who’s gonna dance with me? Zayn?”

Zayn laughs, shaking his head. “There’s no music,” he says.

That’s not entirely true- there is a radio station on- but the sound of it is basically drowned out by the mumbling of the crowd even if nothing exciting is happening on the pitch.

“Spoilsport,” she _tsks_ at him, turning to Liam. “How about you, handsome, let’s go.”

Liam laughs, eyes crinkled in delight and Zayn can tell he’s pretty drunk already despite only having the one drink. He stands up and takes Jesy’s hand, leading her to a bit of space between tables, the two of them giggling into each other’s shoulders as they start to dance.

“Oh, Lou!” Eleanor says from where she’s sitting. “Come dance, come on!”

Louis laughs, shaking his head and she pouts at him. “You’re ridiculous,” he accuses, her pout turning into a smile as she rolls her eyes.

“Whatever, you’re lame,” she says, standing up on the bench seat they’re sharing. Louis lifts a hand above his head automatically to help her down, helping her keep her balance as she steps carefully over his and Nick’s laps.

Zayn watches as she weaves over to Liam and Jesy, the two of them making room for her and starting to dance silly, flinging their arms out and throwing their heads back in laughter.

“Get in there, Haz,” Zayn says, watching Harry watch them.

Harry grins at him. “Did you see his face when I walked in, though?”

The din from the crowd gets loud again, a missed goal replaying on all screens. Zayn ignores it and leans in closer. “Well, yeah, you look like pure _sex_ , Harry. You definitely fixed your first impression.”

Harry glares at him as if he’s annoyed for the reminder, accepting a fruity drink from Niall when he returns. “What impression?”

Ignoring the Irish lad’s presence, Zayn laughs at Harry. “You acted like a fool, m’afraid.”

The loose curl around Harry’s ears is distracting, Zayn wishing he’d brought his sketchbook to the pub with him. New places and people always fill him with endless inspiration and he files the image away to mess around with later. He’s got a pretty mix for a chocolate brown that would match Harry’s hair perfectly.

“Hazza’s not a fool,” Niall says, breaking Zayn’s concentration from counting the amount of curls licking against Harry’s neck.

“I didn’t say he was,” he replies icily. “You weren’t even there.”

“Never gonna be interested in my opinion, then?”

“Nope.”

Harry sighs, obviously already annoyed. “Play nicely, children.”

Zayn watches as he gets up and moves to the group dancing, a couple of others having joined them. The tables around push out further to give them more room, a decent circle forming. Harry starts dancing with Eleanor first, a hand on her shoulder as she leans in to speak and a deep laugh coming from his lips, loud enough to travel back to their corner.

“You’re kind of a prick,” Niall says off-handed.

Surprised, Zayn spins back around to face him. “I’m _sorry_? I’m not the one who tore apart someone’s opinion on a fucking _play_ , mate.”

“I don’t even understand why you’re upset about that. That’s what the instructor wanted us to do. _Debate_ and discuss.”

“Whatever,” Zayn says, turning back to where Jade’s clearly become more interested in their conversation, eyebrows raised and eyes downcast when Zayn catches her looking.

“Talk to me about anything,” he prompts her, sliding over into Jesy’s abandoned seat.

~*~

Time moves quickly for the rest of the night, Zayn meeting the rest of the group and having a flirty conversation with someone new, an almost-thirty black guy from the surrounding neighborhood who leans close to him as they talk. Will’s cologne is a bit too strong but underneath is a spicy scent that makes Zayn’s mouth water, and he lets him pull him away from the table and press him against a wall in the hallway to the loos. Will, in turn, lets Zayn lick eagerly into his mouth until his whole experience with Niall that day is gone from his mind and he’s half-hard and near-desperate for the palm that Will smooths over his dick.

“Want to take this somewhere else?” Zayn asks when they pull back for air, Will’s hand slipping under his shirt and brushing over his stomach.

“Don’t think we _have_ anywhere else,” Will said, nibbling a bit on the hard edge of Zayn’s jaw. “Your roomie went off with the curly guy and I’ve got a ton of people at my house.”

Zayn groans, frustrated. He puts a hand to Will’s chest, pushing him back a bit.

“Not really interested in smelling piss while we continue this,” Zayn says with a smile, brushing his fringe back from his face as he takes a few, calming breaths.

Will nods and seems to understand, backing up against the opposite wall. “Woulda been fun, though,” he laughs, deep American accent sending a shiver down Zayn’s spine.

They make their way back to the others once Zayn’s confident his semi is down enough that it won’t be noticeable. Louis and Eleanor are gone, Nick hanging off of one of the radio guys’ necks and laughing loud about something or other. Most of the football fans are gone as well, the match ending long ago in an apparent win.

Niall’s staring at him as he approaches by way of the bar to get a bottled water, drinking half of it at once to help cool him down further. Zayn raises his eyebrows when he gets back to his seat.

“Something I can help you with?”

Niall’s pale cheeks are almost completely pink, his hair falling a bit from the humidity still clinging to the air though they’re indoors. He shakes his head, biting his lip and looking away.

“Whatever, I’m heading back,” he says, keeping the bottle in his hand as he stands again. The buzz he had only hardly had is long gone, his skin still warm from getting off with Will. He’d given away his number but he doesn’t expect a call, has a feeling Will had only been looking for a bit of fun and not a repeat performance.

“I’ll walk with you,” Niall says, surprisingly standing as well and making to follow.

Taken aback, Zayn stops and looks to him.

“What?” Niall asks pointedly, clearly unconcerned. “I’m not good enough to walk back with you? I don’t know this area so well and it’s dark with a bunch of drunks around. Haz left me behind to get off with your roommate and everyone else lives in the middle complexes.”

_How_ , just _how_ , does Niall so openly say things like that? Zayn knows he’s proud- too much so from the way he’d let the earlier seminar upset him- but he’s never thought he was arrogant. The idea of humbling himself to admit to needing someone else- especially someone he disliked as much as he and Niall already disliked each other- was foreign to him. He wouldn’t be able to do so.

“Fine,” he says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and pushing out the door. He lights a cigarette as soon as they’re outside, free hand picking at a patch of dried paint on his hip.

“You an artist?” Niall asks as they walk.

Zayn grunts a bit in response.

“God, what the fuck? You’re just going to never talk to me because of _one_ bloody class topic?”

“‘ve just not got anything to say,” Zayn mumbles around his cigarette.

“You’ve got too much to say, probably.”

“Rich coming from you.”

“I’m actually a pretty nice guy. Most people like me, in fact.”

“Most people are sheep.”

The thing is, Zayn knows he’s being petty and miserable. He knows that Niall is likeable- could see it in the way the others warmed up to him quickly, Louis even hopping up on the table to fit ‘and Irish’ on the chalkboard behind their seats so the sign was all-inclusive when Niall had joked about feeling unwelcomed.

The girls had even flocked to him, the pretty blonde sitting near Jade having ended up sprawled against Niall’s side before she left, the two of them stealing chips from each other’s plates and smacking hands away as if they’d known each other forever.

If he gave Niall a chance- an actual, honest _chance_ \- he’d probably get on with him very well. But now Zayn’s going to have to attend a class with him three days a week for the next three-and-a-half months and remember how embarrassed Niall had made him feel. Zayn can’t move past that.

They walk in silence the rest of the way, Zayn slowing a bit unconsciously when they pass a concrete wall marking the edge of campus and the beginning of the downtown capital city. It’s a wide expanse, about twelve feet long and five or so high, just short enough he could see over the edge without standing on his tiptoes. He starts thinking about his half-formed sketches and favourite quotes, trying to come up with one that would be perfect for tagging this canvas.

He doesn’t realise he’s come to a stop until Niall doubles back and gets in front of him.

“You okay, mate?” he asks, concerned.

Zayn snaps out of his thoughts, eyes feeling heavy from his daydreaming as he looks at Niall. It takes a moment to realise what had happened and he shifts his weight on his feet, looking away from Niall’s blue eyes to look at the cement under his feet.

“‘M fine, let’s go,” he says, brusque. He pushes past Niall, nostrils flaring when the scent of Niall’s cologne hits his senses.

Zayn ignores him the rest of the way, striding forward and tuning out the sound of footsteps following. He pushes up the three flights of stairs to get to his floor, panting audibly when he gets to the top and somewhat relieved to hear Niall breathing hard as well.

He comes to a sudden stop when he gets to his door, a sock on the knob all the indication he needs to stop from entering.

Niall barely avoids colliding into his back, closer than he’d been all day. He hears him sigh a bit and then clear his throat. “D’ya want to crash on Harry’s bed until he comes back?”

“No.” Zayn says, stepping away until he can’t feel Niall’s warmth against the back of his neck anymore.

“Come on,” Niall coaxes. “What are you going to do, stay out in the hallway all night?”

“If I have to.”

“Don’t be so stubborn, come on.”

“I said no, fuck, can’t you understand? Sometimes, there might be people who don’t bloody like you.”

Taken aback and looking as if Zayn had slapped him, Niall’s eyes are wide and bright.

“Fuck you, then,” he snaps, voice loud. “Sleep in the goddamn loo for all I care.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Yer just pissed cause the guy from the bar didn’t want to take you home.”

“Fuck off.”

“‘ _Not everyone’s going to like you_ ’,” Niall mocks. “Take yer own fucking advice, mate.”

“Stop calling me ‘mate’!”

The shout is louder than Zayn intended, shocking them both quiet. A minute later Zayn’s door opens to show Harry and Liam, bleary-eyed and clearly sex-rumpled.

“What’s the matter?” Liam asks, his t-shirt on inside out and his briefs clinging tight to his thighs.

“Nothing. Are you two done?” Zayn snaps, feeling a bit guilty when Harry and Liam both look at him, startled at his tone.

“Yeah,” Harry says after a moment, stepping back into Liam’s chest so Zayn can slip inside.

He’s relieved that it doesn’t smell as much like sex as he’d expected, the open window and an illegal candle lit are seemingly enough to dissipate whatever had been in the air. He hangs his jacket and shrugs off his trousers as Harry grabs his things and leaves.

“Sorry,” Zayn says before he gets out the door, relieved when Harry looks at him with a smile.

“S’okay, good night,” he rasps, voice rough from sleep and most likely something else.

He pulls on plaid joggers when Liam shuts the door on Harry and Niall.

“Hey, you okay?” Liam asks him where he’s stood with his back against the door. “You and Niall…?”

“I’m fine and he’s a dick.”

“He was nice to me,” Liam says, tone apologetic.

“Oh, mate,” Zayn sighs, grabbing his laptop, phone and phone cord as he settles on his bed. “Don’t worry, I want you and Niall to get along. Seems like you and Harry do, so you’ll probably see a lot of him. I just don’t plan on being his friend.”

Liam seems to relax a bit at that, pulling his shirt off again and sliding into his bed. His is against the window and he got under the duvet, the cooler night air probably frigid on his warm skin and Zayn felt a flash of jealousy that he hadn’t had that with Will.

He finds himself turning over Niall’s words as his computer starts up, wondering if he’d been implying that Will didn’t _want_ to ask him home. He tries to push the voice out of his head, transferring all of his pictures of the campus from earlier onto his computer. He studies some of the potential spots for his tagging, wanting to save the biggest pieces for the downtown Lansing area and not on campus, as he has a feeling it would stay longer off-campus.

A picture of an overpass sticks out to him. He’d taken it a couple days before, when he had first landed in Michigan and had taken a ride around to familiarize himself with the area. It was littered with other tags and random spots, nothing that would be distracting from what he wanted to do.

He shuts his computer down and places it safely on his desk, sliding under his duvet and counting his own breaths until he falls asleep.

~*~

Tuesday morning’s Fall Convocation begins at 9 am promptly and students must be seated no later than 8:45 am. Which is a problem, as Zayn is currently stood outside the Breslin Center’s doors at 9:09. He’d missed his alarm and Liam had gone to breakfast with Harry before the ceremony, and Zayn’s debating what he should do. There are a few third and fourth years outside but the rest of the freshman and new students are in the arena building already.

He’s just about to take a deep breath and sneak in quietly, when a flash of blond hair catches his eye.

He turns and sees Niall running across the street from their group of dorms, baggy sweats on and a snapback over his head.

“This is supposed to be business-casual,” Zayn hisses when he approaches.

“We were also supposed to be inside thirty minutes ago,” Niall replies, yanking the doors open and flying inside, not waiting to see if Zayn is behind him or not.

He grabs the door before it closes, rushing inside and catching up to Niall quickly. They rush through the concourse, trying to find the door their meeting notes had indicated they should use. Finally they find it but it’s locked, and they have to knock for a security monitor to let them in. He levels them a look and they both apologize, slipping inside as quietly as they can.

The arena is huge, home to the school’s basketball teams, and the ceremony proceeds without interruption, but the students all around them turn and stare as they find two seats. Zayn doesn’t even care if he’s sitting next to Niall; he just wants to get the next hour and a half over with.

They sit rigidly next to each other through the whole ceremony, Zayn’s attention waning and eyes flitting to the students in front of them. A pretty boy sitting in front looks behind him and Zayn meets his gaze, watching as his eyes give him an obvious once-over even as he’s seated. He gets a smile when their eyes meet again and he can tell the guy is interested. The boy looks over to Niall, sees his stormy gaze and must misinterpret, because he looks apologetic before turning around.

“How are you cock-blocking me just by _existing_ in the same area as me?” Zayn asks, incredulous.

“I don’t care where you stick that thing,” Niall shoots back, voice low.

They get a glare from a monitor as she passes and they quiet for a second until she’s moved down a few rows. Zayn turns to Niall, blood boiling.

“You’re doing a great job of leaving me the fuck alone like you said you would.”

His voice is louder than he’d meant it to be and the surrounding group of students turns to look at him. The monitor from before hastens back to them.

“If you boys can’t be quiet for the rest of the assembly, we’re going to visit the dean,” she hisses. They both nod and turn back to watch the rest of the ceremony, a motivational speaker with the microphone, offering advice on getting through their first year at the University.

Zayn and Niall don’t even _glance_ at each other for the rest of the time.

*

They’re- of course- forced together again when Harry and Liam drag them to the LBGT Resource Center for a new student welcoming meeting Thursday night. Liam claims he wants to join an LGBT society but Zayn’s pretty sure Liam’s only going to be around Harry. He would tease him but the way they already look at each other is actually kind of sweet and Zayn’s rooting for them whole-heartedly.

Zayn’s surprised to see Eleanor and Grimmy as co-chairs for LIGHT- a residence hall caucus for their dorm group. He doesn’t see Louis anywhere but he watches them in fascination as she pinches his arm and he pouts exaggeratedly back at her. They don’t seem to carry any tension between them but aren’t flirty like lovers, and Zayn can’t figure them out.

He manages to avoid direct contact with Niall for the entirety of the meeting, though he can’t keep himself from paying attention to the lad. He’s fascinated with Niall- can’t stand him, but can’t tear his eyes away either.

It’s just that- Niall is so _warm_ with everyone else, even Liam. The two of them were awkward at the beginning of the night but seem to have grown past that by the way they’re crowding together next to Harry, Niall’s arm out in front of them to snap a selfie.

Zayn looks away when he sees Niall turning his head, staring resolutely at the blank projection screen and sighing in relief when the lights flicker in warning. Eleanor rolls her eyes as she heads to the front of the room.

“Okay, Grimshaw, enough with the lights.”

Zayn hears his laughter from somewhere to his left but he doesn’t turn around, trying to focus when Liam slides into the seat next to him, Harry on Liam’s left and Niall on Harry’s other side.

“You’d like him if you got to know him,” Liam whispers while everyone else finds seats as well.

“I already know him,” Zayn responds.

“Seems like there’s a bit of _tension_ between you two.”

Zayn rolls his eyes hard enough they _hurt_. “Like homicidal, maybe.”

Liam nods as if he’s placating him and lets a hand rest on Zayn’s shoulder for a moment before he turns back to the front of the room and they listen while Eleanor and Nick greet them and explain the purpose of LIGHT- offering a safe space for queer and questioning alike to explore their feelings and thoughts regarding gender and sexual attraction.

Zayn would never admit it to anyone but he pays attention mostly to hear if they allude to the semi-polyamorous relationship they both share with Louis but his name isn’t mentioned once and Zayn spends the rest of his time at the gathering watching Niall flit from group to group, making friends easily and reminding Zayn without even trying that Zayn is the one person Niall will never be friends with.

It hurts a bit more than he’d thought it would, knowing that someone who tends to make friends with everyone he meets will never be your friend. It makes Zayn feel like he’s in the wrong for the way he’d acted and he grits his teeth as they walk back to their dorm, the September air warm and muggy around them as he tries to convince himself he isn’t hurt by the rejection.

He doesn’t like Niall any more than Niall likes him so it shouldn’t matter that they’re not friends.

It doesn’t matter.

It honestly doesn’t.

And there’s no bloody _tension_ , either.

~*~

Resigned to his fate as the self-inflicted outcast, Zayn heads to an art supply store Sunday morning, the last day before classes begin. He uses more of his budget than he should for aerosol cans of spray paint, but there’s been an image in his mind he’s wanted to tag for a few days now and he thinks he’ll go mad if he doesn’t do it soon.

The paint sits innocuously in his bag for the rest of the day as he gets started on his science reading- needing to do well in this exchange program for the year in order to use it on his CV when he’s out of school. Liam’s quiet on his side of the room as well once he returns from breakfast with Harry, texting a bit with his phone and waiting around for his parents to Skype with him.

It’s clear when he sees them sign on that afternoon, because he coughs nervously and sits up straighter in the bed, face getting a bit pink and eyes squinting as an enormous smile grows on his face.

“Hi, mum,” he says, voice already a bit watery and Zayn smiles fondly and rolls his eyes, turning on his bed and looking behind him.

“You’re such a mummy’s boy,” he hisses, and Liam looks over at him and laughs, not disagreeing.

“Come meet them,” he says instead and Zayn hops up, bookmarking his page lest he forgets before he climbs onto Liam’s overturned- and therefore higher- bed, hooking his chin over Liam’s shoulder.

“Hi Mr. and Mrs. Payne,” he says with a smile, waving his fingers a bit in front of Liam’s bicep.

“This is Zayn,” Liam starts, thumbing in his direction. “He’s my-”

“Is this the new boyfriend, then?” Liam’s dad asks, leaning in a bit to get a closer look at the screen.

Liam’s shaking his head ‘no’ but his mum mustn’t see him because she laughs and pulls his dad away from the camera. “He’s very handsome, Li,” she says loyally.

“‘Course he is,” Liam’s dad says, sounding a bit disgruntled. “Look at Liam, he’s a handsome fella. Seems only fair his boyfriend would be, too.”

Zayn’s laughing but Liam’s completely mortified, neck warm against Zayn’s cheek as he grows red with embarrassment.

Finally seeming to reach the end of his rope, Liam practically shouts, “Zayn’s my roommate, not my boyfriend.”

For their part, Liam’s parents both seem a bit embarrassed but they all recover quickly, and Zayn finds out easily where Liam not only gets his warmth and generosity but also his weepy tendencies. Zayn ducks away with a quick ‘goodbye’ when Karen’s eyes get watery for the second time and Liam’s follow suit as their conversation continues, turning to how much they both miss him.

He heads out after pocketing his key and shouldering his bag. He’s got all of the cans tucked along the sides of the bag so none of them clink against each other but he still tries to school his features so he doesn’t give anything away.

He heads to the study hall in the center building of his dorm complex, directly underneath the expansive cafeteria. He finishes his science reading and even makes a list of questions and thoughts he has on the material in preparation for Monday’s lecture. He stays until closing, a student aide coming around the area and quietly informing him it’s time to go.

The campus is never quiet, students celebrating the last of the weekend. It’s about ten o’clock and just about an hour past sunset, so the booze is just beginning to flow. Around the corner from his block of dorms is Michigan Avenue, and Zayn heads off on foot in the opposite direction from most of the others, drawing as little attention to himself as he can.

There are several opportunities for him to tag but he passes them by, knowing exactly what overpass he wants to hit first, the one from the picture.

It’s large and imposing, and- from where he’s stood on the north side of the road- he can clearly see the state capital building about a mile and a half down. It’s completely different from the town hall building in Bradford. This is domed and bright white, lit up by dozens of lights shining on the building. Cars are passing him constantly, and he steps back off the sidewalk so he’s further in the shadows as he picks the perfect spot.

It’s his first work in America; he needs it to tell his story. Back home in East Bowling, his graffiti is everywhere, small on the side of the local Thai place and big on the wall surrounding Odsal Stadium so it’s visible from the west lot. He’d started off with small, quick doodles in the loo stalls and on the sidewalk with chalk. Things that would be washed away the next time he looked for it. But he had always itched to create something more permanent, desperately trying to make a mark on the world.

The first real tag he’d done was on the corner of the local Thai joint, his initials in bubble script made with a faulty aerosol can he’d gotten from the pound shop. He’d had more paint on his hands than he’d gotten on the wall, and he hadn’t stayed to perfect it at all, running away before someone caught him.

His heart had beaten harder every time he rode his bike past the restaurant for a month until he craved the adrenaline rush again. He picked the end of the M606 motorway, footing it with a can of black and a can of white paint on hand.

There were a couple of cars that passed him but he’d ducked far enough under the overpass that their lights didn’t help him. He’d had an image in his mind for a few weeks that he’d been doodling with a pen on every scrap of paper he could find. He’d practiced the paint strokes with the capped cans in hand in his room, wanting to perfect it.

In the end, it doesn’t come out exactly as he’d drawn- the script is a bit sloppy but the words are big and he’ll be able to see them from the road.

“I’M HERE”

It had been childish and a bit silly, Zayn realised after a few years. But the message still sticks with him, to this day.

He grabs a bright orange first, spraying off some excess before stepping up to the edge of the overpass. He keeps his paint cans all in order and he doesn’t even need to double check as he pulls each canister out, spraying off before slashing lines across the cement.

When he steps back, the myriad of colours is striking. Orange fades into yellow that fades further into white tones.

“I’M STILL HERE”

Zayn’s confident enough to know his art is good. His script is sharp, the colours blended in such a way that the all-white question mark is a sharp contrast with the orange at the beginning but there’s almost no obvious transfer throughout the line.

He wipes his hands off on his trousers, the amount of paint on his denim minimal as he steps back and closes up his bag. He’ll have to restock his black: the bold outline necessary to show off the colour transition, though he’d used more than he’d thought he would need.

When he’s packed up he heads back to his dorm, trying to shake his thoughts. He wants to believe he’d done the tag in a symbolic way- first tag back home the same as his first tag in America- but something inside him feels like he’d meant it for everyone he’s ever disliked, people who have brushed him off and overlooked him his whole life.

He’s here. And he isn’t going anywhere.

Sometimes, he just wishes he didn’t feel so alone.

~*~

The distraction of classes is a welcome relief. Even his Shakespeare lecture with Niall is usually pleasant. They don’t ever offer opinions after the other one speaks, out of a mutual disinterest in having any contact.

The two art classes he has keep him busy, one focused on art techniques and histories throughout civilizations and the other a practical with no sculpting in the syllabus. He hangs out with Liam and Harry, making himself scarce when Niall comes around.

It’s a bit lonely sometimes, but he has his tagging to fall back on when he’s truly feeling down. He starts mingling outside of class with some of the students in his art practical, a small group of them often getting coffee in the morning before class starts.

“Hey, you’re Jade’s friend,” he says one day after the group’s second outing, staring at a pretty blonde girl as they walk to class and trying to place her.

Startled, she laughs and nods. “Yeah, you’re one of Tommo’s lads.”

“Zayn,” he supplies, shifting his book bag so he can hold out his hand and shake hers.

“Perrie.”

Perrie becomes one of closest friends he’s ever had, the two of them spending more and more time together. Their little ‘Expat Society’ meets every other week but Zayn and Perrie are often together all weekend, Zayn introducing her quickly to his tagging.

It’s something he’s only shared with Danny and Ant back home, though he thinks Liam suspects sometimes. Liam’s caught him on his blog multiple times, answering comments on the tags he’s posted pictures of and always smiling bright and wide when Zayn leaves with his tagging gear, as if they’re sharing a secret.

Perrie falls in love with tagging, helping him make stencils for his spraying and then trying her hand at some graffiti of her own, but still preferring to use brushes to doodle caricatures on blank walls.

He Skypes with his mum one morning in late September with Perrie in the room, introducing them over the web. She seems to love her instantly, smiling warmly and telling Perrie she must come down for some real desi food when they’re all back home over the summer holiday break.

“My boy tries,” she laughs when Perrie agrees with a smile, “he tries really hard but he’s not a domestic yet.”

“I’ve got a couple recipes down,” he defends himself.

“Don’t interrupt yer mum,” Perrie scolds him, resting her head on his shoulder and swatting at him lightly.

“Oh, I like her a lot, sunshine. Keep this one around; she’ll make sure no one hurts you.”

“I feel like I’m being ganged up on and you two just met,” he says with a pout, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and smiling bright at his mum.

“I’m just happy you found some friends, love. You look really good.”

“You too, mum.”

Just then, the door to his room opens and Liam, Harry and Niall fall in. They’re laughing quite loud but they quiet when they see him and Perrie.

“Sorry, mate, I forgot about your call with your mum.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Zayn says, shifting his shoulder a bit to hint to Perrie that they should go.

Bless her, she gets the hint right away and slides off the bed, waving and calling out a ‘goodbye’ to his mum. He sees her leave out of the corner of his eye, hears her laugh at something Niall had muttered.

“Bye, mum. I’ll call you in a couple days, yeah?”

“Alright, love, I’ll let you go. Love you.”

“Love you.”

He doesn’t notice the way the three lads are looking at him until he shelves his laptop, standing up and making to leave.

“What?” he asks, coming to a stop and looking at them with raised eyebrows.

They all shift a bit, Liam looking the most uncomfortable.

“Spit it out,” he says, getting snappy from prolonged exposure to Niall, who is looking as uncomfortable as Zayn is feeling.

“Just- we didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No sweat, we had plans soon anyway.”

And that isn’t a lie- he and Perrie were going to scout out a location for Zayn’s next project. They’ve been looking into drip styles that mimic Pollack, Perrie excellent with her brush and Zayn fiddling with techniques that imitate his style.

Something about the way they all shift again informs him that what he’d said was wrong.

“Do I have something on my face or what?”

“We didn’t know- about you and Pez,” Harry says with a pout.

His attention is drawn to Niall, who’s staring at the floor with an unreadable expression on his face. He wants to know what’s on Niall’s mind, what’s making him hang his head for possibly the first time since they’ve met. Something about Niall still intrigues him, something his dozens of sketches haven’t been able to capture, though they’ve not spoken when it could be helped.

It isn’t that Zayn wants them to be friends, but his life would be easier if they could at least get along. And he still gets the urge now and then to find the exact shade of pink that turns his cheeks dusky when they’ve come across each other at the random weekend party.

“What?” he asks dumbly, tearing his eyes from the sliver of Niall’s face he can see. “What about me and Pez?”

“You were just introducing her to your mum… I mean, we kind of suspected but we were never told.”

“Oh god,” he groans when realisation strikes. “I’m bloody Kinsey-six queer, guys, and Pezza’s got a boyfriend anyway. We’re just friends.”

Liam and Harry relax a bit, and Niall looks up at him quickly. Zayn puzzles over the look that passes over his face but then Liam’s laughing and Zayn looks away.

“I’ll admit, I was pretty confused when I first thought you were together but I can’t judge you for being hetero.”

Zayn laughs, full-belly chuckles that make it hard for him to stand and he settles on the edge of his bed.

“Oh, Li,” he gasps between giggles, tongue pressed to the back of his two front teeth. “You’re so good, not judging me because you thought I was straight.”

Liam joins him, settling next to him on the bed. “Sorry,” he apologizes through his laughter.

Zayn shakes his head, bringing an arm around Liam’s shoulders and pulling him close to smack a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ve honestly got to go,” he says as he stands. “But that was pretty funny, _Leeyum_.”

He grabs his tagging bag, and fits it across his chest, the duffle heavy with all the new supplies he and Perrie plan on experimenting with. He makes his way down the backstairs of the dorm building, finding Perrie in the courtyard outside. She’s fashioning a garland from random fall-blooming wildflowers and long grass stems and smiles when she sees him.

“They finally ask you if we’re dating?”

Gawking, he comes to a stop still half a dozen steps away from her. “You _knew_ they thought that?”

“Please,” she rolls her eyes, going back to her finger work. “Dash and the girls asked me after only a couple days.”

“Wish you woulda told me that,” he mumbles as she finishes her crown, setting it atop her head and posing for a picture when he whips out his phone.

“Mega babe,” she crows when he shows it to her, standing and falling in step with him even as she makes him upload the picture on Twitter.

They make their way to the Law College library- the only one open on Saturdays. He leaves Perrie to charm the librarian while they print dozens of stencils, their previous ones having become too paint-heavy to be useful.

Instead of helping her, he scans some books in the art section, looking for references he can use. He finds one with better detailing than others, using some of his laundry change to scan coloured copies as reference material.

“Ready to go?” he hears behind him as he’s putting the book back on the shelf and keeping the copies safe from bends and tears in his sketchbook.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here. Time s’it?”

“Just past four.”

The flower garland is still sitting on her head, atop her braids, loose curls falling out of her half-up knot. He tugs at a curl as they walk out and head to Charlie Kang’s, a Chinese restaurant that’s popular with the students.

They split some rice and Mongolian beef, their party growing when some of the other students from their art class arrive.

Declining their invitations to go out later, he and Pez finally break away a little later than they had originally planned. It’s not yet dark, but the sun is lower in the horizon than they’d like. They grab a bus heading away from downtown, towards the mall in the suburbs. She points out an overpass they could use, a large enough black spot near the top that would be difficult to get to but worth it if they could manage it safely.

The next viable spot they see, almost near the end of the line, causes Perrie to gasp aloud and clutch at his arm through his jacket. He turns his head to follow her line of sight, jaw dropping when he sees what’s got her worked up.

“Pez, we can’t,” he warns.

The train certainly does seem like it’s stopped for the night, a dozen cars halted near the old station. Most are already coloured up but there are a few empty, blank canvases for them.

“We’ll get in so much trouble,” he says, looking around as the bus pulls to a stop.

She stands and he tries to tug her back into the seat but she’s too quick and he follows her quickly, rushing down the steps and racing across the street as traffic stops for a light.

“We’ll be famous,” she counters as they fall into a walk. “Who knows where this train goes? Everyone will see our work.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and grips his strap where it lays across his chest, adjusting the weight distribution so it no longer cuts into his shoulder. He looks around surreptitiously but no one seems to notice them, not much foot traffic this close to the suburbs. The bus had dropped them off near an open plaza with a Target and a Meijer, two stores Zayn’s becoming increasingly familiar with for groceries and odds and ends.

Anything to avoid the busier Walmart Supercenter closer to campus.

They pick their way over the tracks, Zayn eyeing up the fifty-foot railcar with the most space available.

“What would we even do?”

There’s a fire in her eyes when she looks at him and he knows the answer before she even says it. “Anything we want.”

~*~

The sun’s just hovering above the horizon as they double check around the station, soon satisfied no one is around. They’re in a good spot, on the side of the railcars not visible from the road. There’s an expansive field behind them that ends in the back of a shopping complex, no windows visible from where they’re at.

“We’re gonna have to wear the masks anyway,” Pezza reasons. “Come on, Zayn. Live a little.”

“Live a little?” he scoffs. “I tag all the time, I could be arrested multiple times a week.”

“For a graffiti artist, you’re too safe.”

The fact that she’s just teasing is obvious but it still strikes a chord.

“I’m not ‘safe’. I brought you into this.”

“Just picture the reaction your blog is gonna get.”

That gives him pause, which she pounces on.

“Zaynie’s gonna be _famous_ ,” she croons.

He shakes his head and starts taking pictures of their options, looking through his camera roll and pulling out the references he’d printed earlier. He studies the colour swatches and runs through his aerosol inventory in his head. Pezza’s got her own paints in a canvas bag within his duffle, her brushes in a bundle in her purse.

They don’t start actually painting until the sun slips below the sightline, though they arrange everything they’ll need.

Donning their masks, Zayn hands Perrie two cans of black and grabs two for himself.

“We don’t need to cover the whole area,” he says, his voice coming out robotic and strange. “Just get enough down for a contrast.”

She nods and turns to her half of the car, not bothering to spray off as she uses both cans simultaneously. He watches her for a moment, her ambidextrousness coming along, though she still favors her dominant hand a bit.

Nothing relaxes Zayn more than making art, the bold lines he’s spraying onto the unconventional canvas soothing the constant hum in his brain that’s usually full of unwanted thoughts of a particular shade of blue eyes and blonde hair. He’s tried to make reason of it- that he’s only aesthetically attracted to Niall and not in any other way- but he finds it hard to lie even to himself.

They finish their outline quickly, the glossy black covering as high as they can reach but leaving enough negative space for their colours and acting as a perfect background for the splatter effect they’re going to try. The last of twilight has faded by the time they grab their brighter colours, Perrie with yellow and Zayn with green. They work around each other, spraying lines of varying widths and lengths, curving arcs across the railcar. They switch out their colours as wanted until their entire area is covered.

“Work your magic, Pez,” Zayn encourages, slipping off his mask and watching as she grabs her brushes.

“I could show you,” she offers, holding out a brush for him.

He takes it gamely, helping her open her paints and dipping his brush into the blue first.

“Gonna have to get a bigger bag to carry your paints, want you to have more to work with.”

“I’ll get my own,” she shrugs, mask resting atop the now flattened flower crown. She’s got a streak of green on her cheek somehow, the faint light from the station just enough to highlight it.

He affects a sigh. “The student is becoming the master, I see.”

Laughing, she dips her own brush and brings it up before the excess can drip off, swinging her arm and splattering a curve across their base.

The droplets are in a perfect arc, green bright against the blacks. He does the same with his blue but swings his arm like a cricket bowl, a vertical line appearing.

“Nice,” she encourages him, grabbing some smaller brushes and dipping them all at once into the yellow. The lines created from it follow each other, graceful where they lay.

The splattering continues until they’re satisfied with the end result.

“Not very much like Pollack,” Zayn laments.

“No,” Perrie admits, hands on her hips. “But it’s beautiful and people will be talking about it when they see it.”

Zayn grins and picks up the white aerosol can, tagging his messy signature at the bottom. The word ‘zero’ only legible if you know what it is, a small ‘z’ with a trail behind it. Perrie takes the can after him, spraying her initials on the other bottom corner in bubble letters.

“I’m a right mess,” she says as she helps him pack everything away.

It’s true for Zayn as well, both of them covered in bright paint from their bare arms to their trousers.

“Told you we should just tag naked.”

“Maybe next time.”

There’s a change of clothes for both of them in the bag, tugging their long-sleeve shirts on in sync before they turn their backs and slip into new jeans. Zayn bundles up their clothes and fits them around the paints, zipping the bag and lifting it over his head.

“Any signs?” she asks, twirling in a circle.

After a thorough exam, he shakes his head and pulls out his phone. With the flash on and the air of Perrie’s LED flashlight, he takes as many pictures as he thinks he’ll need, up close details and farther away landscapes. They’ll return in the morning in they can, but the train may already be gone and he doesn’t want to lose this.

~*~

The last few days of September bleed evenly into October, Zayn and Perrie both too occupied with coursework to do much tagging. He sees her stencil work along the pathway that runs parallel to the Red Cedar River, flowers of all colours that she must do when she needs study breaks during all-nighters.

He sees Liam even less than he had when he was with Perrie all the time, he and Harry often studying late at the overnight libraries. He doesn’t typically wake when one or both of them come in, just sometimes sees curls in Liam’s bed when his alarm goes off for his morning classes.

It feels lonely again like it had before he’d made friends with Perrie; Zayn’s used to sisters and sometimes over-involved parents. He goes some days without speaking to anyone at all, shuffling to-and-from class and to-and-from the dining hall.

Skype sessions with his mum and dad become more frequent, but he doesn’t want to worry them so he normally keeps the calls brief.

When he’s completely desperate for conversation one day around the middle of the month- his essay on modern art completed but Perrie too busy still perfecting hers to entertain him- he pulls up his blog on his laptop.

Shifting in his desk chair so he’s sitting cross-legged, he plugs in his headphones and starts his painting playlist as he navigates online to his blog. He views the unanswered comments, always horrible at keeping up with the feedback he gets.

There’s quite a few of them, significantly more than he ever received back home. He supposes he’s been a bit more active than he’d realised, though there hasn’t been a new post in almost two weeks, just a couple throwback ones to some East Bowling areas he’d hit.

He goes through them dutifully, starting from his first post in America. There’s a lot of ‘sick’ and ‘great colours bro’ that he ignores, never sure exactly what he’s supposed to say. He usually ends each post with a ‘thank you’ so he doesn’t think it’s necessary to say so again.

Answering the questions about which brands he uses are the easiest, and he creates a post specifically showcasing the cans, paints and brushes he prefers. He also lists the coloured pencil, paint palettes, sketchbook and a special mention for his copics that he cannot do without.

Navigating back to the posts, he continues scrolling through comments. There are some that are lengthier, and he takes his time to respond to those, wanting to show people he appreciates their words even if he’s terribly late responding.

After his fourth post, he notices a specific username that’s being repeated often. He clicks back to the others, seeing _hometowncraic93_ is one of his thoughtful commenters. He rereads them in order.

On the first post, the colour fading ‘I’M STILL HERE’, Craic’s comment is a simple, _wow, this is sick transitioning. saw this on my way to the club last night, can’t believe i found your blog. im still here, too._

Zayn smiles and moves to the next post, a quick Nietzsche quote that’s too mainstream to be truly deep but looks nice when you’re passing under the bridge to the veterinary teaching hospital. ‘ _we have art in order not to die of the truth_ ’ is scrawled in loopy cursive, black words with green outline. It had taken him most of the night to get the outline right, but it had been worth it in the end.

_always a classic_ , Craic had written. _i’ve next to no artistic ability but im musical and i think that’s probably similar in a way: if i couldn’t turn my thoughts into songs and melodies i think i’d go crazy._

The comments continue in the same vein. Craic’s always insightful and usually relates right back to the art. Even if it isn’t a quote, Craic still finds something in the colouring or lines that Zayn hadn’t even been aware of.

_what do i know, though? i probably sound like a loon rattling on about colour choices and schemes. me parents would probably think i’d lost my mind, their little boy rattling on about hidden meanings in graffiti. look forward to the next one, zero_

On and on, the messages go. In all, Zayn’s upload eight actual tags and four miscellaneous posts. Craic’s commented on them all. Zayn responds to all of Craic’s messages, ignoring most of the others, though he does link to his recently created art supply post for those questioning his tools.

The door opening with a bang as it hits the wall startles him and he slams his laptop shut out of instinct, turning to the front of the room.

“Sorry, sorry, door slipped,” Niall’s saying when Zayn pulls out his earbuds. “Liam said you wouldn’t be here and I just needed to get my book I left the other day.”

Heart still racing, Zayn just nods. He doesn’t put his earbuds back in but he does follow Niall through the room, pacing and looking for his book until he sees the corner of it sticking out from under a small pile of Liam’s clothes.

“Got it. Okay, um. Yeah,” he says, clearly feeling awkward.

He leaves without another word and Zayn pulls out his sketchbook and his pencils without thought, drawing the shape of lean muscle through a dark t-shirt without realising until midway through that he’s tracing out Niall’s chest.

There’s something about stopping mid-sketch that he’s never liked to do so he finishes it and tears it out, shoving the incriminating piece into his bottom desk drawer- where he normally keeps his backup supplies but just might now be re-dubbed the junk drawer.

~*~

The conversation lull comes to an end when Louis catches him reading some Iron Man comics one afternoon, the door to his room open so the stench of boy and built up laundry can clear.

Definitely too cold to open the windows. Bloody Michigan.

“I would’ve pegged you for a DC man,” he says from the doorway, startling Zayn.

He recovers quickly, swallowing once to clear his dry throat. “I mean, if you like sub-par super heroes and even worse movie adaptations.”

Louis just laughs, coming into the room and sitting on the edge of Zayn’s bed. “Niall said you were bitchy about your opinions.”

The words are blunt and Zayn flinches a bit, but he’s still a bit starved for actual voices so he doesn’t let himself react with his gut instinct. Instead, he sighs and puts the comic away on the shelf above his bed, settling in against his pillows.

“I don’t know why I even said that, though. I love Justice League, and Batman’s pretty much the reason I started drawing in the first place.”

The honesty is a bit overwhelming at first, and Zayn rests his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

“Hey, mate, s’alright.” Louis sounds concerned and he shuffles forward.

Great, now Zayn’s the resident basket case. He’s horrified when he feels tears starting to sting behind his eyes.

Louis doesn’t treat him like a nut, though, just gets an arm around his shoulders and tugs him away from the wall and into Louis’ side. Zayn doesn’t cry, not much at least, but it’s enough that he’s sniffling and there’s a tiny wet patch on Louis’ t-shirt when he pulls back.

“I’m sorry, you must think I’m a lunatic. Crying because I boy I don’t even like said something true about me.”

Louis just grins, blue eyes kind and sharp teeth on display. “Nah, I think you’re top notch. Niall was just venting. I wouldn’t mention it if it’d been in confessional but he said it at a party with you right behind so I figured you knew.”

Zayn shrugs. “You must go to a special seminar to deal with people like me, though,” he persists.

“What people?”

“You know,” Zayn says, waving his hand around. “The weird ones.”

“I’m honest, man. You’re great. If I’d have known you were having a rough time of it lately I’d’ve stopped by sooner. I thought you were enjoying it here, god knows your art’s plastered all over the city.”

Zayn’s heart skips a beat and he looks up at Louis, wide-eyed. “How did you know?”

Scoffing, Louis shifts closer. “Like I’m an idiot. The graffiti starts showing up all at once, signed by a lad who calls himself ‘zero’ and I’ve got a fellow countryman who is always wearing paint-splattered shoes.”

“Guess I didn’t hide it very well.”

Louis nods seriously for a moment. “That, and I saw inside your duffel bag a couple weeks back when you were rushing out.”

“Clever,” Zayn mutters, picking at a loose thread in his duvet. “Yer not going to report me or anything, are you?”

“As if. I’m going to sit and let you do a portrait of me. Have you do it big on the windows of Brody complex.”

Zayn laughs, relaxing. “I’ve got a couple sketches of you, want to see?”

Blue eyes grow wide again. “You do? Sick. Show me, show me.”

He scoots off his bed quickly and grabs his sketchbook. Louis flips through it carefully, pausing when he finds himself.

“You’re the only person who’s ever been able to recognize their own _hands_ ,” Zayn laughs in disbelief.

“They’re majestic, s’not my fault.”

He lingers over a couple sketches of foreheads, thin eyebrows and the hint of eyelashes. He looks at Zayn with a grin and he immediately feels caught out. There’s almost no way Louis knows those are all of Niall.

Not possible.

He finds a couple sketches Zayn did after the first society meeting- Grimmy, Eleanor and Louis all shoved into a booth side of a tiny table. He traces along the edge of Eleanor’s hand in her hair, smiling softly.

“Is this what we look like?” he asks, tearing his gaze away and looking at Zayn.

Zayn grins and leans in closer, not answering aloud but instead tracing his finger along the path he’d been obsessed with, Grimmy and Eleanor connected through Louis.

“It’s complicated,” Louis says softly, shutting the sketchbook and holding it to his chest.

“I didn’t ask,” Zayn reminds gently, in case Louis doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I know. You’re pretty much the only one who hasn’t, besides Niall.”

He says his name with a small frown, as if he’s apologizing. Zayn’s quite used to hearing it, though, and he doesn’t even mind this time.

“I just. I had the perfect girl. Who finds that? Someone willing to put up with my shit, someone who me mum _loved_. We came here together, thought it’d be a grand, romantic adventure. Spend a year in America and go back home, get married after Uni and settle down with a couple pets until we were ready for kids.”

He pauses, opening the sketchbook back up to the three of them, thumb light on Grimmy’s face.

“Then I met Nick. And I fell in fucking love with someone when I had someone already. What kind of shit is that?”

Zayn shrugs but doesn’t answer when Louis looks to him, not knowing what to say.

“She’s too good for me. So’s he, even if I hate him as much as I love him. They’re both more’n I deserve.”

“They love each other, too,” Zayn says quietly when Louis falls silent. “She loves him because she can see how much he cares about you. And the same the other way. They’re both mad about you.”

“Things like this don’t happen in the real world,” Louis says, looking up at him with damp eyes. “It doesn’t work out. Someone cares too much or too little and the precarious balance gets thrown off and then it ends and I’ve got to leave them again because I can’t go on without them both.

There’s another pause in the conversation when Zayn doesn’t know what to say. There are the generic words he’s sure Louis’ heard before if he opens up, but he doesn’t think Louis needs to hear any more of that and Zayn’s kind of shit at consoling people anyway.

“I don’t even call Nick my boyfriend. Eleanor does, but I still think it wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“What about what’s fair to Nick?” Zayn asks, voice soft.

Louis doesn’t answer, sniffling once.

“You need to talk to them about how you’re feeling, or you’re going to be the thing that gets thrown off balance.”

“Name one person who’s successfully navigated polyamory,” Louis finally sighs, closing the book again and resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder.

It should feel weird, being so close to someone he’s really not spoken to much before, but it doesn’t. Louis feels warm and soft by his side and Zayn wraps an arm around his shoulders in a complete flip from their earlier position.

“ _You_ will. You’re going to be the first ones to do it,” he says with a grin, resting his cheek on Louis’ soft, product-free hair.

He gets a weak, wet laugh for that. He’ll take it.

~*~

A week before Halloween, Zayn finds himself running late for his art seminar. He’d come back from breakfast for a quick nap, having stayed out most of the night tagging a Shakespeare quote his class had gone over. _Henry VIII_ may not strike most as full of inspiration, but Zayn couldn’t get Wolsey’s ‘by that sin fell the angels’ line out of his mind, the rough way Niall’s accented voice had read it aloud in class having absolutely nothing to do with the way it plagued him after.

Nothing to do with it at all.

As it is, then, he finds himself scrambling to get ready when Liam returns from his run and startles him awake. He shoves on the first pair of shoes he finds, pretty sure they’re Liam’s when they’re just a hair too wide. He doesn’t have time to change out of his trackies so he just pulls a t-shirt over his head, ignoring the paint spots on the hemline as he takes one of Liam’s many hats, pushing the snapback over his bedhead and grabbing his bag as he rushes out the door with a laugh at Liam’s judgey face.

Since his talk with Louis, things have been remarkably better. He’s let Harry and Liam rope him into their dynamic again instead of always declining invitations to hang out. He’s seen Perrie once for a quick lunch but they’d been talking more and he’s been feeling a lot happier lately about being away from home.

It also helps that he has Craic to talk to. Their online conversations are some of the highlights of Zayn’s interactions. He gets all of the benefits of talking to someone without the constant urge to sketch or make a mental critique of their appearance.

He gets to his stop as the bus is pulling away, debating for a moment whether it’s worth it to chase it to down or if he should just wait the seven minutes until the next one comes. He’s already a bit winded and surprised he survived the first sprint, so he decides to wait and pulls out a cigarette as he does so.

The late season air has a bit of a chill to it, Zayn regretting having left behind his jacket in his haste.

“Smoke free campus,” a voice from behind him says, but it doesn’t sound judgmental so he just smiles as he turns around to find the source.

There’s a fit lad standing behind him, hands in his denim pockets and a preppy polo on under a fleece jacket. Zayn allows himself ten seconds to regret not changing into a better outfit, but then he sees the way the lad’s eyes focus where the line of his t-shirt cuts over his bicep.

Maybe he doesn’t look as much like a scrub as he’d thought.

He offers the pack out. “Want one?”

The guy shakes his head but does climb onto the bench next to him, settling close enough their knees knock.

“I’m Zayn.”

“Steven.”

Looking at Steven through his eyelashes just a bit and enjoying the thrill that rolls up his spine when he smirks, Zayn suddenly doesn’t so much mind missing his bus.

“Let me guess,” Steven says, tapping his chin with his pointer finger as he shifts in his seat to give Zayn a better look. “Art major.”

Zayn laughs, looking away and feigning disinterest. “What gave it away, the paint on my shirt or the marker stains on my fingers?”

“Actually, it’s the brush hanging out of your bag.”

“Ah, should strive to be more mysterious when fit boys flirt with me,” he says, trying to go for an offhand tone as he secures his brushes in the bottom pocket of his bag.

“Am I?”

Taken aback, Zayn gives up his coy act and looks Steven full-on. “I’m sorry, I thought you were flirting… I shouldn’t have assumed-”

Steven laughs and shifts even closer, their thighs pressing together. “Oh, no. Yeah. I’m definitely hitting on you,” he confirms, leaning in just a bit and dragging his eyes down Zayn’s cheeks and focusing on his mouth. “I meant- am I “fit”?”

Zayn rolls his eyes and turns forward again, trying not to be charmed by the guys air quotes around ‘fit’. “You know you are,” he says, fighting a smirk.

“Never had someone who looked like you tell me that before though.”

“Flatterer.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he shrugs, scooting back as a small group comes up near them. He doesn’t stop looking at Zayn, though, his hand resting on the metal bench between them. “You never guessed my major,” he reminds. “I’m more than just a pretty face.”

Zayn fiddles with the brim of his hat, tugging it off and smoothing his fringe back underneath it. “Criminology,” he guesses. “Gonna be the next Sherlock Holmes.”

Steven’s laugh is loud and pretty like music, his head tipping back and his Adam’s apple bobbing when Zayn turns to look at him again. “If only. My parents would have been so pleased. I’m studying to be a vet, actually.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” Zayn flirts. “Saving puppies and kittens for little kids and all that?”

Steven plays along. “Yeah, that’s exactly it. Gonna get all the hot dads to fall in love with me for saving Mr. Snuffles.”

He laughs softly at his own joke and Zayn’s honestly charmed now, feeding off of the good vibes Steven’s putting out and not able to hide it.

“So,” he says after a pause, shifting just a bit closer again. The movement isn’t enough to touch quite like they were before, but Steven’s little finger is pressed against Zayn’s knee and his brown eyes are trained where they’re touching.

“So,” Steven repeats when he looks back up at him. “Let’s go for dinner some night, Zayn the Arts major.”

Zayn hides a little smile, turning to the street as a bus pulls up.

“That’s me,” Steven says, standing.

The sun is bright and he has to shield his eyes further than his snapback does, looking up to where Steven’s in front of him.

“Here,” he says, grabbing Zayn’s hand. He grabs a pen from his bag and writes his number on Zayn’s hand.

“I’ll call you,” Zayn says, genuinely meaning it.

He hasn’t been out with anyone since he came to America- unless getting off a bit with Will the first night counts, which Zayn’s dick constantly reminds him it _doesn’t_ \- and Steven’s voice is honey-smooth and his eyes are warm. Zayn could devote some time to sketching the way his nose crinkles when he laughs or his slightly knobby knuckles but he doesn’t get the overwhelming urge to find the exact shade of green that his eyes almost appear to be in the light, doesn’t immediately need to grab a pencil and perfect the way his pair of sunglasses had pushed back his hair where they sat upon his head.

Zayn normally burns hot very quickly for boys: wants to paint them, fuck them and then leave. He used to blame it on being “an artist” who was searching for a muse or a certain aesthetic but he learned soon enough that he would just lose interest quickly. He likes looking at people and finding all the ways they’re beautiful.

It isn’t his fault that he loses interest when they start talking and end up saying offensive or stupid things.

He tries to ignore the flash of a memory: Niall’s judgmental gaze when he’d returned to the table alone that first night or his later words that had implied Zayn wasn’t worth taking home. He watches Steven leave instead, looking over his shoulder at him as he gets on the bus.

Maybe he doesn’t need to burn too hot with Steven. Maybe they can move slower than Zayn is used to and actually have a good time. He’s already seen the human side of him, didn’t have to put up with too many silly things he’d said.

There’s definite attraction there as well. He felt the chemistry almost immediately and knew Steven felt the same.

Waiting until Steven’s bus pulls away and Zayn’s confident he’s out of his eyeline, he copies the number down into his phone and saves it. When he looks up again, his bus is just pulling in and he stands to board, startled when someone who he hadn’t seen steps up next to him.

Niall’s in a snapback like his and a t-shirt even though the air is a bit chilled, eyes trained forward in a way that Zayn knows means he’s aware of his presence and unwilling to acknowledge it.

Normally Zayn would be happy about that, but he’s just had a fit boy flirt with him and he’s torn. He half-wants Niall to have seen so he realises that Zayn is desirable and could go home with almost anyone he wanted but then he also wants Niall to be unaware of the exchange. He wants one bit of himself that Niall can’t judge him for.

Then Niall turns his cheek just a bit before he steps onto the bus, eyes clearly trained on the black digits across the back of Zayn’s hand, and Zayn realises he had seen the exchange. He doesn’t like the look in Niall’s eyes, something heavy and unreadable. He doesn’t know what it means or why it suddenly makes him feel exhausted, like his bones are twice as heavy and his mind is twice as tired.

He follows Niall up the steps and waves his pass card for the fare, settling into the farthest seat from him that he can find and pretending he doesn’t notice when Niall keeps looking back at him.

~*~

Eating dinner alone may not be for everyone but Zayn normally loves it. He gets to do a bit of people-watching and, even better, study contrasts in the light pouring in from the ceiling-to-floor windows along one wall of the Brody building’s military-sized lunch cafeteria. He’ll sometimes read or study if no one else is around but today he doesn’t need to do that, one person in particular holding his attention. He acts as if he is not constantly aware of Niall’s every movement, his eyes trained blankly on the book in front of him.

It’s just. The look from earlier is still burned in his mind, the way Niall had seemed even more closed off somehow. Zayn wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the slight head shake Niall had made when their eyes had met, couldn’t imagine that the hint of jealousy he’d seen on Niall’s face was real.

It doesn’t make sense for it to have been jealousy: Zayn has _seen_ the people Niall hooks up with. It’s always the same type; dark hair, dark eyes and toned, lithe frame. Steven’s broad shoulders and preppy clothes are the complete opposite from anyone Zayn has seen Niall ever pull.

After Niall catches him looking over to his table too many times- face still with the same expression Zayn had seen earlier- he gets up and leaves to remove the temptation of watching him any further.

He tosses his jumper on the ground near the base of a tree outside of the main doors, settling on top of it and pulling out his phone to distract himself.

There are only a couple comments on his _Henry VIII_ tag and he scans them quickly, feeling a bit disappointed when there is nothing from Craic yet. He laughs at himself when he pulls up their latest conversation thread, re-reading their back-and-forth debate and typing out another response. They’re arguing which has the larger impact on society; art versus music. It had started jokingly enough but Zayn had resorted to bringing up Hieroglyphics in his last comment and Craic had responded a bit earlier, reminding Zayn that there were songs before written word, rhymes that made it easy to remember stories about ancient gods and goddesses.

Though he can argue favorably for art until he’s old and gray, Craic does make a valid point. Zayn finishes typing his thought, conceding and admitting defeat begrudgingly. He can’t keep the smile off his face as he does so, knows he looks like a besotted idiot but it’s just been a good day, overall. A cute boy gave him his number and a funny, witty guy online is challenging his mind.

Besides Niall’s weirder-than-usual behavior, Zayn’s honestly has had a perfect day.

“Hey, Bradford,” a familiar voice rings out, seconds before some beat up converse come into his view.

“Pezza,” he says with a grin, looking up. Her hair’s been dyed purple since he last saw her and he tells her how great it looks as he stands.

There’s something else different about her, an extra layer to her smile that he’s never noticed before. She looks really good, unbelievably calm and content.

“Miss you,” she says simply, pulling him into a hug.

“Looks like you’ve been painting the whole campus in your colours,” he says as he wraps his arms around her shoulders and returns the hug.

“I’ve got the girls helping me now, too. Leigh-Anne’s doing her practice dissertation on my stuff, actually.”

He lets her wrap an arm around his waist and lead him away from his tree, barely remembering to grab his jumper from the ground first.

“Where are we going?” he asks with a grin, game for anything.

She just hums and leads him north of his dorm complex, letting go of him only when they reach Michigan Avenue and they dart across the five-lane highway to the other side, off-campus enough to host the best parties but close enough to also house the biggest sororities and fraternities.

“Greek row? Are you rushing? Is that why you haven’t had time for little ol’ me?”

He’s teasing and she knows it, throwing him a disgusted look but forgetting he can read the fond still in her eyes. She doesn’t answer either, and he’s never seen her quiet this long. It intrigues him so he lets her pull him halfway down the street before turning them so their backs are to the frat houses and the back of a strip center is in front of them. Zayn’s pretty familiar with the stores in the strip, a Chinese restaurant most of all, but he’s never really looked at it from behind.

“I found this the other day,” she says as they stand. “There’s so much space but I couldn’t paint it quickly enough- not with the houses behind us.”

Zayn knows what she’s about to say before she actually does, letting him pull away from her and cross the less-busy Harrison Road. There’s space, yes but it’s also the _quality_ of the space, smooth gray plasterwork that covers the entire length and height of the space..

“I figured you could spray it quickly enough. Don’t know what you’d use it for, but I’d help if you needed. This needs to be covered in something bright and exciting.”

The edge of the cement reveals an inch of space and then smooth, gray brick underneath.

“Why would they cover the brick?” he asks out loud, stepping along the building and running his palm over the material, checking for bumps or errors. He finds several, already mentally saving them in his mind for any work he may do.

“Probably to keep vandals like us from tagging rude things. This is easier to clean than brick would be.”

He’s quiet as he processes the canvas, stepping back finally.

“Oh, I know that look,” Perrie says softly, resting her purple curls on his shoulder. “I’m going to walk past this every day and picture what you’re gonna do.”

“I don’t have anything yet,” he admits, turning them south and back to his dorm for a much-needed catch-up talk. “It’ll have to be stencils, since I won’t have time to do anything else before someone sees and calls.”

“You’ll think of something,” she says with faith.

~*~

It’s almost without conscious thought that Zayn leaves his dorm room the next night after dark has fallen, grabbing a black hooded jumper and his pack of supplies. He’s startlingly near cleaned out, only a couple cans of colour left, and he takes a moment to double check that he has the right colors for what he’s thinking of doing

Should work just fine.

Liam levels him a worried look when he goes. He has been losing his enthusiasm now that Zayn is going out more and more. He’s never said anything directly about it, but he keeps hinting that Zayn should get some sleep or trying to get Zayn to stay in with him and Harry.

Zayn doesn’t like making Liam upset, so he smiles softly and waggles his fingers a bit in a goodbye. “I won’t be long,” he promises. “Maybe we can watch a film when I get back?”

Liam nods and Zayn blows him a cheeky kiss as he slips out the door. He takes the stairs at the front of his dorm building, coming out into the parking lot. He doesn’t typically use these stairs, this side of his dorm lets out practically at the very edge of the school campus. He’s only used it when he heads west to tag in downtown Lansing before, but tonight he’s just heading due north.

He ignores the draw of Michigan Avenue, it’s dozens of overpasses with more than enough space for what he wants to do but not in the right spot for the maximum impact.

Location, location, location.

He reaches the spot Perrie had shown him quickly, doubling checking his surroundings. It’s a weeknight, so Greek Row is mostly quiet behind him. He resists the urge to spray the huge stone letters in front of the most pretentious frat, facing his template and taking a deep breath. He’ll need to be very, very fast. The sounds of the cars on Michigan Avenue will help drown out any hissing from his painting, but he still can’t risk being seen.

The second a light flicks on in the houses around him, he’s gone. Whether he’s finished or not.

He tapes up the stencils he made earlier, moving quickly. Then, with two colours in hand, he eyes up the space in front of him and starts to spray. This morning, he hadn’t planned on tagging, but he’s been fuming about the looks that Niall continues to give him every time they’re around each other- which has been more than normal as of late. He has to retaliate, has to say something- even if Niall will never know it’s him.

The tags have grown popular around campus, and his blog followers have increased exponentially once word got out. ‘zero’ has become a bit of a campus mascot, and neighboring universities are starting up their own spaces for their artists to shine.

As he sprays, he lets himself get worked up as he thinks about Niall. He swears that sometimes he might actually _hate_ the Irish lad; hates his completely carefree attitude and his determination to make friends with everyone _but_ Zayn.

He hates that the Niall who loves everyone and is the most popular person at any party they’ve ever had the misfortune of being at together is the same Niall who won’t give Zayn another chance but who has burrowed deep into Zayn’s mind. He thinks about his colours all the time: pale peach and almost-white where his tan ends; bright, clear blues that look like cloudless skies; shocking strawberry red that looks like his cheeks when he’s drunk and giggling with his actual friends.

Most of all, Zayn hates that he _cares_. He shouldn’t. Niall’s been a jerk to him just as much as he’s been one to Niall. He shouldn’t mind that Niall doesn’t give him the time of day.

But he's always cared too much, his mum has always warned him about that.

When he's done, both his cans are empty. He peels off the stencils and then uses the last of the white to finish the outline, pleased when he steps back and looks it over.

'NOT HERE TO PLEASE YOU'

The letters are sharp and severe in their angles, clearly legible though they crowd together in the space. He'd reversed the colours of the last word, ‘you’ in white letters with a green outline.

The message is petty, Zayn knows that, but he needs to say it somewhere since he won't say it to Niall directly. He _isn't_ here to please Niall, or anyone for that matter.

Clearly, he's not pleasing his parents, who think he's taking a risk being so far from them. He sees the worry in his mum’s eyes every time they video chat, hears it in his dad's voice when he wipes a hand over his face and tells Zayn he loves him. They're proud, they always will be of him. But they'd rather he had stayed in Bradford and taken an arts course back home. He isn't here for the professors or the other students. He's just another face in the lecture hall, with a good idea every so often and decent marks. His classmates will ask to borrow his notes or if he'd like to form a study group, but his impact on their lives is minimal. If he wasn't there, some other good student would be. He's here a bit for Pezza and Liam, even a little for Harry, though he hadn't set out to get close to any of them.

He's _not_ here for Niall.

He's here for _himself_ above anything else, to better himself and get more exposure for his art- both tagging and the projects for his practical. He’s here to gain experience and inspiration, and then he’s going to finish his final year at home and hopefully land an intern job at one of the art galleries in London.

There's a plan for his life, one foot falling in front of the other until he reaches his goals. Niall doesn't fall anywhere into his plan. The energy he wastes on Niall is amazing considering the fact they avoid each other as much as possible.

He gathers his things as quickly as he can, tossing empty cans in his bag and pulling off his jumper, covering the aerosol cans with it so they don’t clang against each other. As he walks back to his dorm, he grabs his cell phone from his pocket. It’s only just past eleven but it is a weeknight so he debates for a second, most of his anger at Niall having dissipated with his tagging but enough is still there that he makes up his mind and pulls up his contacts.

Managing to type and walk at the same time, he shoots off a quick text to Stephen before he reaches Michigan Avenue again.

_hey it’s Zayn the arts major, i hope this isn’t too late to text?_

He hits send before slipping it back into his trousers pocket and dashing across the highway and back to his dorm.

The buzz of his mobile against his thigh makes his stomach clench in a good way and he forces himself to ignore it until he’s back in his room, slipping into a pair of Harry’s joggers that he’d not-so-covertly stolen a few weeks back.

He cuddles up to Liam’s side as they flick through the cheap channels they get in their dorm, finally settling on a rerun of _Friends_. He gets his phone out and tries to be subtle when he opens the message but Liam notices right away and laughs.

“Got a new fella?” he teases.

Zayn rolls his eyes and reads the message.

_hi zayn the arts major. definitely not too late, i’m doing the overnight shift at the vet hospital._

He smiles and Liam steals his phone to read it.

“Who’s Steven?” he asks, smiling up at Zayn.

“The boy I met at the bus stop,” Zayn says, trying to get his phone back but Liam pulls it out of his reach.

“I’m going to text him that you’re on your way,” he says with a grin, fingers flying across the keys.

“No, Liam, don’t you _dare_ ,” Zayn warns, a knee to Liam’s magic kidney as he tries to get to his phone.

Liam sighs and hands it back, but their fumbling ends up causing the fleshy part of Zayn’s thumb to hit ‘send’ and he can’t cancel the message in time before it’s gone.

For his part, Liam does look truly apologetic about it. Zayn doesn’t mind, though, can easily explain his friend had done it as the worst joke ever and he and Steven can move forward. Before he can finish typing, though, another text comes in.

_can’t let you in cause of security cameras, but we can do breakfast in the morning before i crash? whens your first class?_

“Hey, all’s well that ends well, yeah?” Liam asks, smiling and nudging Zayn.

Trying to bite down on his smile, Zayn backspaces what he’d been typing and says back instead, _not till 11, we can definitely do something. when’re you off?_

_five_

_in the afternoon? because no way am i getting up that early_

_oh come on_

_you’re out of your mind_

_we can watch the sunrise… i bet the artist in you would love that_

And, fuck, but Zayn actually would love that. He’s only seen the sunrise a handful of times in his life and he’s always been too sulky and tired to really appreciate them. Seeing it on a computer screen is nowhere near the same or even similar and he could always use the inspiration.

_you’re lucky I like pretty things_ he types back after a moment of debating. He sees Liam’s eyebrows rise understandably, since he never gets out of bed early for anything. He holds up two fingers in a rude gesture and Liam laughs, bright and entirely too loud for near-midnight.

_we’ve got that in common then_

Zayn doesn’t read too much into it but Liam coughs, almost as if he’s choking on his own spit. “Dude, he just called you _pretty_.”

~*~

The extra yawning he does through his art seminar is completely worth it, shot-gunning a huge black coffee during his study time after class as if his life depends on it. He’s still a bit cold from the late-autumn damp that hangs in the air in the mornings, breath visible a bit when Steven would make him laugh at something or another.

It’s good, hanging out with him. Zayn had risked going for a kiss before they’d gone their separate ways- Zayn to the bus stop for his class and Steven to his dorm across the complex from Zayn’s- and Steven had reciprocated easily, hand warm on the small of Zayn’s back through his jacket until he’d finally pulled back and walked away. He’d turned to look at Zayn twice- Zayn knows, as he’d been stood there watching him clearly- and he got to his first class with time to spare.

He’s on his way to his Shakespeare class, not even the thought of seeing Niall enough to get him down, and he stops for a second coffee on his way. His mum would kill him for the shocking amount of caffeine in such a short time but he needs it. He’s never waking up that early again. Not even for Steven.

He’s early again, something he really isn’t used to, and he grabs his coloured pencils from his bag, playing around with the way the sun’s colours looked over the tops of the trees.

His phone buzzes and he thinks for a moment it’s Steven but then remembers how tired he’d looked when they had parted. It’s a new comment on his blog and he glances at it disinterestedly until he sees Craic’s username at the top of the emailed alert.

Craic’s honestly amazing, is the thing. His comments are usually buried among the dozens of new followers Zayn has, people from all over campus reacting positively to his latest tag. But none of them stand out like Craic does, and Zayn should probably be concerned about that.

hometowncraic93: _love seeing the attention you’re getting for this one. hate that no one else understands._

Zayn ignores the other comments- there are over fifty and the tag just went up twelve hours ago. Fifty different people have seen his tag and been moved by it and it’s just… astonishing to him.

It isn’t even a representation of his best work.

zerozone: _you dont think people get that i was obviously shouting out into an abyss and hoping the abyss shouts back?_

It’s cheeky and may come across as a bit snotty to someone who doesn’t know them, but they’ve been talking for a few weeks now and Zayn knows Craic will catch the sarcasm.

Within moments, there’s a reply.

hometowncraic93: _nah, you’re not nietzsche. you did that one already and you’ve got more going for you than that. who pissed you off so bad you tagged up the back of the building with the best egg rolls on campus with your pseudo-existential bullshit?_

Zayn actually laughs out loud as he reads it, looking around the lecture hall when it comes out louder than he’d meant. No one’s even paying him any mind, everyone on their phones or tapping away at their laptops as they wait for Professor Blake to arrive, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he answers.

zerozone: _clearly you’ve never eaten at kang’s on grand river. no competition. this was inspired, as always, by a twat in one of my classes. know-it-all who thinks he’s better than everyone else._

As if on cue, Niall enters right then. Some part of Zayn is always aware of him whether he’d like to be or not, and he looks up and catches his eye for a second before Niall turns his attention to his phone and settles into the first row, as far from Zayn in the back corner as one can get.

After a moment of staring a bit dazed and unseeingly in Niall’s general direction, his phone buzzes with a new reply.

hometowncraic93: _ah, yeah. i’ve just got to my class with one of those guys now. complete tool, high and mighty cuz he comes from money and doesn’t need to work hard to keep his marks up. makes it even worse that it’s a shakespeare class: pretentious opinions for everyone. i thought taking a bard course in america would be funny, but this guy’s got nothing but a pretty face and an out-dated opinion on everything._

And that’s just.

Craic is in a Shakespeare class right now. Zayn is in a Shakespeare class right now. Craic has someone he doesn’t like in this class. Zayn has someone he doesn’t like in this class.

In any other situation, Zayn would be a bit embarrassed by how long he stares at his phone, willing the words to make sense. He’s shocked and refuses to comprehend what Craic said, who he must be. There’s just no way. There are fifty students in this class, at least. This all has to be a funny coincidence and Zayn will realise Craic _isn’t_ Niall and is possibly the bulky lad a row behind Zayn, or maybe even the brunette girl who always smacks her gum even though Zayn gives her a dirty look every time.

It’s possible that Craic isn’t Niall, is all Zayn is thinking.

Right?

Frustratingly, the back of Niall’s head offers no answers when Zayn finally looks to him. He’s talking to the person to his left, back completely to Zayn, but he can hear his laugh and his accent even from across the room and, just like that, everything slots into place in his head and he feels a wave of mortification threatening to overwhelm him. He’s been damn-close to _flirting_ with this anonymous commenter and the whole time it was _Niall_? Craic is Niall. Niall is Craic.

Hell, for as much as they try to avoid each other, Zayn is still pretty sure he’s heard Niall use the word ‘craic’ in about a hundred different ways and he never even second-guessed it.

The person who has been the complete bane of his existence since they met is the same person who is the only one who _gets_ his graffiti. Craic- _Niall_ \- has never once misunderstood a single post- has _related_ to each of them. Zayn has spent _hours_ on his blog talking with him. He’s been in the middle of a tag and thought, ‘what will Craic think?’

Does Niall know that Zayn is the blogger? Has this all just been an awful prank? Maybe Liam found out and told Harry? But Harry knows, he has to know at this point just from seeing Zayn leave. Liam’s made comments in front of Harry, and Hazza is definitely _not_ oblivious, for all he sometimes appears to be aloof.

They wouldn’t, Zayn knows, they just wouldn’t let Niall pull a prank like this. It’s gone on far too long, there’s absolutely no way Liam or Harry is involved in this. But Niall could still have found out somehow on his own.

No. Zayn stands up abruptly, calling attention to himself but avoiding eye contact with everyone as he gathers his book and notepads, not bothering to stuff them into his still open backpack as he races to leave the room before the professor can come in and begin class. Niall _can’t_ know Zayn is ‘zero’ because then Zayn will just have to swim back home and hide away in East Bowling until he’s wrinkled and gray.

Right now, he just needs to be anywhere Niall isn’t, needs to leave before he does something dumb like punch a wall or cry like a child.

Or yell at Niall that he doesn’t come from money, thank you very much, and he works desperately hard for his grades, in fact.

~*~

Being great at avoiding confrontation and self-reflection, it isn’t until a week later that Zayn decides that he needs to rethink some of his life choices. He hasn’t tagged since he found out who Craic is, and the itch of adrenaline under the surface of his skin has caused him to drag Harry and Liam to a party on Greek Row on a Friday night.

The party is ripped straight from a typical movie scene- half-dressed girls and guys dancing in mostly-dark rooms and couples taking advantage of the low lighting to snog practically everywhere around the room.

He lost the boyfriends thirty minutes ago and has been half-heartedly searching for Steven since then. He’s the one who’d invited them, apparently his friend is the fraternity president and Steven’s a bit of guest of honor since it’s his birthday the next day.

Zayn had seen him once when he came in, drinking deeply and laughing with some mates. He hadn’t wanted to intrude- partially because he didn’t want to interrupt the conversation but mainly because he doesn’t want to sit through the awkward introduction where people might get the wrong idea about what they are to each other- and he hasn’t been able to find him again.

They’d seen each other for a quick bite to eat the night after Craic’s reveal, Zayn needing something to distract him a bit. Steven had insisted it didn’t reflect his true wooing abilities and Zayn had rolled his eyes and pressed him up against the wall after they walked outside, kissing him until they were both chubbed up in their trousers and had to break away for the walk back to their dorms.

“Feels like a date to me,” he’d teased when they kissed again before Steven walked into his dorm building, just a quick press of their lips and Steven’s hands feeling out Zayn’s waist through his leather jacket.

He hadn’t seen him since as he’d worked every night, but Zayn’s here now and he’s ready for more than a slick snog outside.

Toasty-drunk and feeling loose, he’s looking around for Steven when he sees Niall. His eyes are on Zayn from where he’s stood, as if he’s been watching him for some time. He doesn’t even turn his gaze away when Zayn sees him, just sips from his drink and nods at whatever the person next to him said, though Zayn’s pretty sure Niall isn’t listening at all.

Zayn’s always thought he was the one watching Niall all the time but he’s only recently realised how many times he looks over to find Niall’s eyes already on him. He doesn’t know what to make of this information, so he does something only drunk him would ever think of: he downs his drink, sets it on the first flat surface he sees, and marches over to where Niall’s back is to the wall.

There’s a drunken blush across Niall’s cheeks and forehead, and he should look absolutely ridiculous with how red he is, but Zayn keeps thinking he’s the best looking boy he’s ever seen all the way up until he’s stood right in front of Niall and has nothing to say.

He’d originally thought he might tell Niall exactly how wrong his opinion on Zayn is, then he looks down and sees Niall’s wet, red mouth and he doesn’t know what he’s doing over here anymore but there’s really only one question he has and it comes out of his mouth without any pre-approval from his brain.

“Why don’t you like me?”

If anything, Niall’s eyes widen even further before his expression closes off a bit.

He’s gently when he says, in a tone that makes Zayn think he’s reminding him of a known fact, “ _You_ don’t like _me_. You never have.”

Zayn waves his hand in the space between them, rolling his eyes. “That’s not important. I want to know why _you_ don’t like _me_.”

He’s being very clear, here. Why isn’t Niall getting it?

“I like you just fine,” Niall assures him, reaching out a hand to grab Zayn’s elbow when he leans a bit too far to the left, stumbling as he readjusts.

He uses Niall’s help for balance and he doesn’t even mind in the slightest.

“You embarrassed me the first day,” Zayn says simply, grabbing Niall’s cup and sipping some of it. “This is gross,” he decides, handing it back to Niall and splashing a little of it over his hand.

There’s a choice between licking it off his fingers or wiping them on his shirt but this might be the only outfit he’s got that isn’t covered in paint stain so he sticks his tongue out and catches the drops, watching Niall watch him as he does so.

The careful way Niall’s eyes follow his movements sparks heat low in Zayn’s belly. Niall might not like him but the sexual tension has been there from the beginning- Liam has always said so.

Apparently, he loses his mind-to-mouth filter when he’s three mixed drinks in because he finds himself pressing up against Niall’s side, forehead leaning against the wall near Niall’s head so he can mumble into his ear. “I wanted to kiss you that first day. Wanted to sketch out the bow of your lip and see how different they look when they’re swollen from mine.”

Niall pushes him away with one hand but it’s gentle enough, Zayn laughing as he leans back against the wall.

“Don’t say things like that,” Niall hisses.

Zayn narrows his eyes, turning a bit so only his shoulder is on the wall. Why does Niall always have to be mean to him? Zayn _complimented_ him for fuck’s sakes. “I wouldn’t kiss you now anyway. You made me look like a fool.”

Niall mirrors his position, turning to face him. “Vain Zayn. Can’t let anyone show him up. Mummy’s money isn’t putting him through school to be second-best.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn says, feeling annoyed again. He’d been so warm and toasty-buzzed, now just a few minutes with Niall has him sobering too quickly. “My parents can’t afford to help me.”

He doesn’t know if he imagines the look of surprise on Niall’s face but Zayn doesn’t care, is suddenly uninterested in being on this side of the room. He isn’t even sure why he came by in the first place. He grabs for Niall’s drink again and wins it without much effort, ignoring the slightly soapy taste of the mixed alcohol. He coughs a bit as it burns the back of his throat but it’s worth it when he passes the cup back to Niall, empty.

Expecting some kind of comment about Zayn stealing his drink, he’s a bit disappointed when Niall just sets it down without paying attention. He does lean forward a bit- although, Zayn’s head is a bit fuzzy and he has to shake it to clear the fog, so maybe he’s the one who is tilting.

“Stop tilting me,” he whines, dropping his forehead to Niall’s shoulder.

It’s warm, so warm being this close to Niall. The smell of his clean skin and cologne is making Zayn dizzy but he just pushes closer, the hand he’s got close to the wall coming loops.

“I’m not moving,” Niall returns, but Zayn thinks he’s not telling the truth. They’re awfully close, is all he’s saying.

“We’re awfully close,” he says aloud, turning his head and biting at Niall’s warm skin through the collar of his t-shirt.

It’s bloody November and it snowed the week before. Niall is always underdressed for the Michigan weather.

“You need to put some clothes on,” he says as he pulls back.

“Erm,” Niall looks down at himself. “I’m wearing clothes.”

“You know what I mean.”

Instead of arguing further like Zayn expects him to do, Niall surprises him again by laughing softly. His hand is gentle where he was keeping him steady, two callused fingers running along the edge of Zayn’s hip bone, little circles that soothe him until he’s practically half asleep.

“I just wish you didn’t like everyone _but_ me,” Zayn murmurs with a sigh, pulling back and shuffling away until they’re not touching anywhere.

The noise from the crowd behind him suddenly sounds louder, like his head had been underwater and he’s just broke the surface for air. It’s also cooler, away from the heat of Niall’s pale skin.

“I like you,” Niall repeats what he’d said earlier once their eyes meet, words slow. “I know you’re too drunk to have this conversation tonight. Let’s get you some water and then we’ll talk, okay?”

There are so many people here, Zayn realises. He doesn’t remember it being this packed when he came in, but they’ve been talking for a long time. He remembers Niall saying something but he looks back and Niall’s gone, walking away through the crowd. He frowns. He doesn’t remember saying anything to make Niall leave, but he knows they’d been talking.

What did he say?

A few minutes seem to pass while he struggles to remember. A broad set of shoulders blocks his view of the crowded kitchen doorway Niall had disappeared through, and he pulls his attention away.

“Steven!” he crows when he looks up.

Though he’s excited that Steven found him, he also feels a weird twinge of disappointment. He doesn’t know why, because Steven’s been great to Zayn and he’ll probably take him home if he acts nicely and doesn’t annoy him. Will hadn’t wanted to take Zayn home to be around his friends but Steven’s got a single dorm room to himself and Zayn really, really wants to be in that dorm right now.

God, but Zayn’s _drunk_. He giggles to himself, pressing his hand to his mouth to keep back the laughter even as Steven crowds him against the wall and slips his hand away to give Zayn a sweet kiss.

Steven’s _great_ , he’s a great kisser and he’s funny and he thinks Zayn’s hot and someone worth giving his number to and all Niall thinks is that Zayn is pretentious and vain and why is he thinking about Niall with Steven keeping him backed against the wall, a half-head taller than Zayn and using his size advantage to fit their hips together, Zayn lifting on his tip toes so Steven’s thigh can slot between his own.

“You came to my party,” Steven says, voice low.

A warning goes off in his head when they kiss again, parting their lips easily as Steven rucks his shirt up at his hip, palming Zayn’s warm skin. He thinks he’s forgetting something, trying to remember what he’d been doing before Steven had found him. All he can think about is how good it feels to be wanted, how turned on he is just by Steven’s interest.

The nagging feeling stays with him though, long past the time when they’re so dizzy with desire that Zayn’s running out of breath between one kiss and the next. He wants to take a break from kissing, wants to _focus_ and remember what he’s clearly forgotten, but every time Steven pulls back to breath, Zayn only gives him a second before dragging him back in by his shirt collar desperately.

~*~

They sneak out of the party early, Steven herding him back to his dorm room eagerly. He’s stays with him that night and the next, getting back to his room late Sunday night to find Liam and Harry curled up together, Harry reading aloud from a book while Liam plays with his hair absent-mindedly.

It’s shockingly domestic and inspires some jealousy in Zayn, though he’s spent the last 48 hours having some of the best sex and conversations of his life. Steven’s warm and calm, lets Zayn borrow his school notebooks to sketch when he wants to. He calls Zayn ‘Botticelli’ though Zayn repeatedly tries to explain he’s nothing like the Renaissance artist. He had pouted when Zayn had to leave, though they would have been too tired to do anything more and his shift at the clinic was starting soon.

Zayn has no reason to be jealous, is all, and he smiles when they both softly cat call him.

“Nice lovebite,” Harry says as he sets down his book.

Zayn reaches a hand automatically to the bruise on his neck, low enough that his hooded jumper should cover it for his classes tomorrow.

“You’re gonna introduce us, right?” Liam asks. “We need to make sure he doesn’t mess you around.”

“Yeah, babe, you’re right terrifying,” Zayn teases, grabbing his shower caddy and a towel.

Liam just smiles at him, clearly not offended, and Harry laughs and sits up. Zayn heads to the showers, humming a bit while he walks and singing softly when he’s under the water, feeling relaxed and stress-free for the first time in a while.

When he’s finished, he dries off in the stall and slips on pants and trackies, not one to make the trek back to his room in naught but a towel the way Liam does. He steps out and kicks off his shower shoes in favour of his slippers, packing everything away and straightening up to find Niall coming around the corner towards him, looking awkward when he sees Zayn.

Just like that, Friday night rushes back to him in a drunken memory of basically throwing himself at Niall and he flushes dark, skin heated from the steam in the air and the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Hey,” he says carefully.

It’s absolutely never happened before, so he can’t really blame Niall for the surprise he shows when Zayn willingly talks to him.

“Hi,” Niall answers back after a moment.

“Sorry about Friday, I was pretty drunk. If I said anything stupid…” he trails off, never a convincing liar. He remembers everything he said, stupid or otherwise, and he knows Niall can tell.

Bless him, though, he goes along with it and Zayn feels begrudgingly grateful and awkward at the same time. He knows Niall doesn’t realise he’s ‘zero’ but he can’t help but remember all the stupid things he had confessed on his blog when he hadn’t known to whom he was talking, and he feels vulnerable in the worst way.

“Anyway, I should probably, erm, go,” he stutters a bit, making to move forward.

Niall shifts to the side to give Zayn room to pass but they end up moving in the same direction, correcting themselves, moving together again, until Niall huffs out a laugh and puts a warm hand on Zayn’s bare shoulder.

He breaks out in goosebumps where they touch, Niall guiding him gently to the side as he steps the opposite way, slipping past each other.

“Right, thanks,” he says, breath sharp in his throat.

He leaves the bathroom with his head fuzzy and his feet heavy. When he gets back to his room, Harry’s already under the duvet with his back to the room. Liam’s on the outside of the bed as usual, waiting up for Zayn but fighting sleep himself.

“You mind if I go online for a bit?” Zayn asks.

Liam shakes his head even as he smiles slowly. “No, Haz is out and you know nothing keeps me awake.”

He gets his laptop from his desk and settles on his bed with his back towards the foot of the frame, to keep the backlight from bothering Liam as much as possible.

“Hey, Z?”

Looking up, he has to half-shut his computer again to see Liam’s eyes in the dark.

“I’m just happy you found someone you like.”

A rush of warmth fills him. “You’re amazing, Liam. Nicest guy ‘ve ever met.”

He watches Liam’s smile grow wider. “‘m not nicer than Harry.”

Zayn just shakes his head instead of answering, biting down on his smile when Liam rolls away to spoon up against Harry’s back, the image of them curled together one that Zayn’s completely used to at this point.

He types as quietly as possible as he answers some blog comments. He’s about to log off when an alert pops up. He sees Niall’s username and hovers over the notification, debating with himself before he clicks it.

hometowncraic93: _haven’t seen any new things lately, been looking like mad. did you ever think of doing the rock?_

Confused and intrigued, Zayn responds. _been missing inspiration. the rock?_

hometowncraic93: _how has no one told you about the rock? it’s over by bessey hall, behind the old art museum. people are always painting it. it’s still got the same stuff from the big game a week back. you should check it out._

A quick search on Google reveals everything Zayn needs to know about the rock- history, location, and current usage as a pseudo-bulletin board for various student concerns.

He must not reply quickly enough for Niall’s liking, because a new message pops up.

hometowncraic93: _unless you think it’s too mainstream haha_

Smiling despite himself, he answers right away. _was just looking it up, impatient. sounds like a good idea, though whatever i paint won’t last long_

hometowncraic93: _are you fishing for compliments? cause i think people would leave your art up there_

zerozone: _always like compliments. what should i do there, then? it’ll have to be fast, seems like students are always around there at night_

hometowncraic93: _paint something that’s meaningful_

zerozone: _not very specific_

hometowncraic93: _i haven’t been disappointed yet_

It’s as if he’s let himself forget that Craic is Niall. He closes his eyes for a second, warm throughout from the conversation.

In a sick twist of fate, his mobile lights up on the comforter. It’s Steven and Zayn feels guilty though he doesn’t know why. He hasn’t done anything wrong- not to Steven.

To Niall, he’s done wrong. For sure, because he’s letting this boy carry on talking to him without revealing himself. He pushes aside his conscience.

_when are you free next?_

Looking between the screens of his mobile and laptop, he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. He doesn’t know how to reply to Niall’s praise or Steven’s interest, so he does neither. He turns his phone off and navigates away from his blog, doing research for his _Much Ado About Nothing_ paper before he goes to sleep.

~*~

When Niall sets his books down next to Zayn in class the next day, more than one student looks at them in surprise but Zayn finds he doesn’t really mind.

“Truce?” Niall says, hesitant smile on his face.

Nodding, Zayn grins back.

They don’t talk for the lecture, but their eyes meet sometimes and Niall always smiles.

~*~

They sit together in class on Wednesday, too. And at dinner on Friday. They go out with Harry and Liam Saturday night and when Monday’s class come back around, Zayn’s seen Niall in a social setting more times in the past week than he had almost the whole semester.

It’s immediately comfortable and a little exhilarating. Zayn’s so used to feeling like the outcast, self-inflicted or not, that falling into being Niall’s friend is so easy.

At the same time as his blossoming friendship with Niall is taking off, he’s been seeing Steven every night he’s not working. It’s usually just for dinner or drinks, but after spending the night out with Niall and the most domestic couple ever, he stops outside of Steven’s building on their way back to their dorm.

He’s dialing Steven’s number even as the other three turn to look at him.

“You in your room?” he asks before Steven even says hello.

“Yeah, are you around?”

“M’outside and it’s bloody freezing, come let me in.”

Harry laughs at him but Liam and Niall both frown a bit, staying with him until Steven comes to the door, barefoot and in pajamas.

“This is a surprise,” he says with a smile. He waves to the other three. “You guys want to come in? This is a dry dorm, but I’ve got sodas?”

He thinks Liam’s about to nod so Zayn just presses close to Steven’s side. “They’re on their way back home,” he answers for them.

Smiling down at him and using his pointer finger under Zayn’s chin to coax their lips together in a ‘hello’, Steven doesn’t seem to mind.

“Bye,” Zayn calls out to them before they go.

Niall’s face is doing something complicated like the first time he’d seen them together and Zayn feels immediately concerned, had forgotten about his apparent crush on Steven. He tries to smile apologetically in Niall but the lad is already turning around and heading back to his building.

They’re in the same dorm complex, the west-most neighborhood on campus, and Zayn could stand at the door to the building and watch his friends make it back in mostly-straight lines but he’d rather bury his face in Steven’s neck and let him lead them both to his room on the first floor.

He’s in a single but his RA doesn’t typically allow guests- something in the “dry floor” rules about people visiting past a certain time. They have to be quiet, so Steven just lends him a pair of joggers and pulls him against his chest in bed. His hands sweep along Zayn’s spine as they kiss a bit before Zayn falls asleep against his bare skin.

~*~

Tommo’s Society meets on Tuesdays, and he brings Steven along for a quick hello before they duck out and take advantage of his empty dorm room.

“Why don’t we just use yours?” Zayn giggles and they kick off their pants under the sheets of his bed.

Steven’s hands are slightly damp with sweat as he runs his palms along Zayn’s inner thighs.

“This is going to go on for a lot longer than visiting hours allow,” he says, eyes sparkling as he kisses the smile off Zayn’s mouth.

~*~

They never have a ‘let’s be boyfriends’ conversation, but they see each other most days and neither is seeing anyone else. It’s nice, a bit quiet and always calm, and Zayn starts getting an itch again to tag. He hasn’t gone this long since his first graffiti pieces. He hasn’t quite got a specific sketch in mind, and he hates pointless tagging, but he finds himself sketching even more than usual.

Steven takes to carrying extra sharpies around for him, watching as he doodles on napkins and asks for kids’ menus when they go to dinner for the extra space.

“You’re really good,” Steven comments one night. “Your stuff kind of looks like graffiti.”

This is his chance. He should tell Steven, should just blurt it out. He takes a deep breath. “What would you say if I told you that’s what I do?” he asks, tone light.

The bark of laughter as answer surprises him.

“That’d be funny. Picturing you slipping out under cover of darkness to tag up a couple walls?”

Neither his words nor his tone are rude, but Zayn still feels a bit embarrassed. He caps the marker he’d been using and hands it back to Steven, trying to fake a smile. Their food comes then so he doesn’t notice, and they tuck into their meal.

“Everything alright?” Steven asks as they’re walking back. “You’re being kind of quiet.”

Zayn nods, turning to him with a smile. “Yeah, just headache,” he lies.

Steven accepts that answer, using the arm he has around Zayn’s shoulder to pull him in and kiss his forehead.

“Want to come back to mine?”

Armstrong Hall is quieter than Bryan Hall any given day, but Zayn can’t shake his bad mood and he doesn’t want to make Steven suffer it with him, so he shakes his head.

“Just going to go back to my room, I think.”

“Okay,” Steven says easily. “We’re still on for Monday after your morning class, right?”

Zayn nods and pulls him to a stop outside of Zayn’s dorm, bringing their mouths together for a sloppy kiss. He pulls away somewhat reluctantly, accepting one last kiss before he heads inside.

Niall’s standing at the main door into the building when he walks past, eyes closed off the way they are every time Steven’s around. Zayn’s already a bit on edge, so it’s easy for him to forget that he and Niall have actually been getting along and he snaps at him.

“I wish you’d stop looking at him like that.”

As if to keep from saying something, Niall presses his lips tight in a line. Zayn watches in fascination as Niall clenches his jaw, the tendons in his neck standing out.

“I’m not looking at him in any way,” he snaps back.

He doesn’t realise how much he’s missed their back-and-forth. Being quasi-friends with Niall is great, but there’s something special about challenging each other.

“I see the way you look when he’s around,” Zayn says, crossing his hands in front of his chest.

“Fuck, Zayn, I have no problem with Steven.”

“Then _why_ do you always act like such a prick when he’s around?”

It’s early enough that there’s no overnight attendant in the lobby, but Zayn’s words still echo a bit in the open space. After a pause, Niall visibly calms himself.

“I sorry you feel that way,” he says before he turns away and walks out of the building.

The urge to chase after him and continue the argument is as strong as the urge to find him to apologize so he, of course, does neither and instead pulls out his mobile.

“Hey,” Steven answers, clear confusion in his tone. “What’s up?”

“Come back,” he says. “Headache’s gone.”

Steven hesitates. “Do you want to come to mine?”

“Nope,” he answers immediately, popping the ‘p’.

The sound of wind pushes through the phone speaker but Zayn can hear his next words. “What about Liam?”

“He’s sexiled me enough,” he says simply.

Without any further arguing- and honestly, should Zayn be offended that it’s taking this much convincing for his almost-boyfriend to come have sex with him- Steven relents and Zayn races up the stairs to his room. Thankfully, Liam’s out and Zayn sends him a quick text to officially inform him he’s out for the night.

When he gets a winky and laughing emoji in return he smiles and his irritation settles a bit, calm when he hears Steven’s knock. He pulls him into the room and ties a sock around the knob without further ado.

It’s messy and quick and Steven’s got bruises on his neck from Zayn’s teeth and scratches down his arms from Zayn’s nails and, in the end, Zayn’s completely fucked-out and pressing lazy kisses along the worst of the nail marks.

“Fuck, that was different,” Steven laughs, palm sliding along Zayn’s sweaty shoulder blades.

Steven’s always touching him as they come down and Zayn doesn’t mind it typically- will usually lay quiet until their breathing has slowed- but tonight he’s still antsy and he can’t sit still.

“Going for a cig,” he says, somewhat brusque.

Unflappable as ever, Steven lets his hand fall away and smiles bright, pushing himself up on his elbows and watching Zayn crawl off the bed.

“Thought you guys called them ‘fags’,” he jokes.

Zayn rolls his eyes and grabs his pack, shaking his arse just a bit to make Steven giggle. He slips on a jumper, a pair of joggers that weren’t his originally- most likely Liam’s, though Harry and Steven’s stuff is often lying around- and shoves his feet into Steven’s over-sized boots.

It’s fucking _cold_ outside, the grass crispy under his boots as he sneaks his way to a bit of tree coverage the smokers frequent. He’s finishing his cigarette when he sees Niall making his way back to the dorm, cutting across the lawn. He stops when he sees Zayn, frowning before making his way over.

“Hey,” he says when he’s close, leaning against a tree just far enough that Zayn knows he’s trying to give him his space.

He can’t decide still if he wants to make amends or fuck this thing up more. Fuck, Zayn needs to tag something _yesterday_ because he’s so full of high-strung energy that he lights a third stick to give himself something to focus on.

“Hi,” he mutters as he flicks his light a couple times, hands shaking. Finally, he inhales sharply, letting the smoke fill his lungs.

“I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting.

“What?”

“I was a bit rude earlier. I didn’t know I was acting in a way that made you think that about me. I’m not interested in Steven, haven’t spoken to him except for when I’m around you.”

It doesn’t explain the weird looks but it does make Zayn’s stomach flip a bit and he just doesn’t have the capacity to explore that feeling further.

“I shouldn’t have snapped. I was just irritated by something and I took it out on you,” he admits.

Niall laughs- always laughs even when Zayn doesn’t say anything funny- and it calms him better than the smokes have. Another thought to explore later.

“Liam’s in with Harry, I just got the message. Wanna watch a movie or something?”

Zayn is a lot of things, but dumb enough to bring Niall and post-shag Steven together when he has complicated feelings about the first is not one of them.

“Can’t, sorry. Steven’s over,” he shrugs.

The same look passes over his face and Zayn points a finger. “That look,” he says. “What’s that look about? You get it every time his name is brought up.”

Almost too quickly, Niall says, “I’m surrounded by couples, maybe that’s what you’re seeing.”

It doesn’t exactly answer the question correctly, Zayn can tell Niall is lying, but he lets it go.

He watches Niall head back inside before he does as well, pocketing his three stubs and tossing them in the bin as he walks in. He’s thankful his keycard is still in his jumper pocket or else he’d be at the mercy of the late-night attendee at the front entrance. No matter who it is, they’re always too chipper for the time of night.

Once he gets back in his room, he undresses quickly and slides in next to Steven- who’s dozing and just aware enough to wrap a warm arm around Zayn’s body, his chilled skin relaxing into the relief of the body heat against him.

He notices the beginning of a headache as he drifts off to sleep and in the morning it’s only worse. But now he’s got an image in his head he wants to draw- a dusky pink flush across pale cheeks and he ignores the tan arm that’s still wrapped around him, slipping from the bed and grabbing his pencils out.

~*~

Steven wakes sometime later to find him in just pants and an over-sized t-shirt that used to be Harry’s. Liam’s snoring quietly on his bed- having come back in the room shortly after dawn, when Zayn had been lining up all of his pinks and trying to find the perfect shade.

Liam had patted him on the shoulder gently and climbed into bed, and Zayn had relaxed into the rhythm of his boys’ deep breathing, finally finding the perfect shade to match the one burning in his mind.

So he doesn’t mean to react poorly when Steven gets up from the bed, slipping into a pair of pants and padding over to him. His hand is much heavier on his shoulder than Liam’s had been, but at least it’s not on his dominant side so it doesn’t mess up his shading.

“Let’s get breakfast,” Steven mumbles, voice rough from sleep and thick. He leans in and nuzzles against Zayn’s jaw and all Zayn can focus on is that he was interrupted and he shrugs him off.

“Not hungry,” he mumbles back, leaning forward and hunching his shoulders more so Steven’s had slips off.

Ever a good sport and knowing how he gets sometimes- though not really knowing why- Steven backs off and gets dressed, coming back to Zayn at his desk a moment later. Zayn puts down his pencils, shifting in his chair and leaning his face up for a kiss before he leaves, routine by now.

“Call me when you’re done, Botticelli,” he teases.

“Not that kind of artist,” Zayn reminds him, turning back to his page with a smile.

“But you look just like the angels he painted,” Steven teases back before slipping out the door.

“You two are disgusting,” Liam grumbles once the door is closed, turning onto his other side and pulling the duvet over his head.

Zayn just laughs, clear and bright, and finds himself without the need to finish his sketch, which is rare. He pulls out his project for his watercolours assignment and sets about getting everything together.

The assignment is to paint something white on white paper, which is Zayn’s favourite assignment in every class he’s ever taken. This time, he’s painting the way the campus looks when it’s covered in snow- apparently not uncommon for November in Michigan.

His project is coming along nicely, he supposes, the muddy snow near the edge of the grass setting the bottom frame of the work and allowing the white to shine through. He’s debating the best way to show how the blades of grass stick up just enough to be seen- phot references taped all along the wall in front of him so he can get everything just right- when a knock on the door surprises him.

It’s just past seven on a Saturday, most of the students just stumbling in or still asleep, so he doesn’t bother putting on any more clothes, expecting Steven to sheepishly be standing in the hallway, a smile on his face when he reveals he’d left behind his keys.

The person is sheepish, but they aren’t Steven. Niall’s got his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched again- a common pose when he’s around Zayn lately, like he’s trying to make himself smaller or something.

“Hey,” Zayn says, forgetting he’s in a too-big shirt that dips past his collarbone and hangs to just the bottom hem of his little black pants- the ones he wears specifically for Steven because he likes the way Steven’s eyes get dark when he sees them.

“Hi,” Niall responds, fidgeting. “Want to get some breakfast?”

“Oh,” Zayn says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Okay. Everything alright?”

Niall shrugs. “Just need someone to talk to, I guess. You’re quiet when we’re not fighting.”

Zayn laughs and steps back so Niall can come in. He grabs his jeans from the night before and tugs them on after a cursory sniff-test. He can tell by the lack of Liam’s light snoring that he’s awake but he isn’t turning around and Zayn doesn’t call him out. He grabs a new t-shirt and his jacket before following Niall back out.

“Thanks,” Niall say as they head out. “I didn’t know if you’d agree.”

“I guess I’m a bit shocked. You’ve always got friends around you. It’s hard to believe that _I_ am the only one you can talk to.”

Niall rolls his eyes but he seems a bit more calm when he turns his head back to face Zayn.

“Harry’d suggest yoga or a cleanse, Liam would be well-meaning and over-earnest and most of the other people I know wouldn’t care.”

Zayn nods with that assessment, both Harry and Liam’s reactions guessed perfectly.

They grab trays and load up at the cereal counter, ignoring the small line for the eggs and pancakes. Zayn grabs a bagel as well and they find a table off to the side.

“What’s up?” Zayn asks as they dig in.

Niall pauses for so long Zayn starts to get really concerned. Finally, he takes a breath.

“About you all being coupled up.”

“Are we making you feel awkward?”

“No,” Niall reassures him. “It’s not that. It’s just. I think I’ve got this crush on someone, but it’s not going to work out.”

He doesn’t know why it feels like his heart beats faster at that. “Oh?”

“It’s erm. Someone I talk to online?”

He forces himself to breath. “Like a dating site?”

“Not exactly. He um… I’m not sure if you’ve heard of the guy who’s been doing graffiti around the campus?”

Fucking fuck fuck. Niall isn’t looking at him but Zayn feels as though his cheeks are as pale as Niall’s, all the blood draining from his face. He grunts- some awful, half-choked out sound that Niall takes as a negative.

“His name’s ‘zero’ and he’s just really sick, you know? Like, I loved the art he was making and it was always so insightful.”

“Yeah.” Where did all of the air in the room go? It wasn’t so warm in here before, either.

“We’ve been talking a bit, just through his blog. We used to talk every day but he’s kind of been silent the past couple weeks and I think I realised how much I looked forward to his art and his messages.”

Oh god, Zayn is so thankful Niall’s staring at his plate because he can’t even imagine what his face looks like right now. He needs to stop Niall from talking, needs to distract him somehow but he can’t _think_ right now and he just wants to melt into the floor and away from this conversation.

“Why don’t you ask him to meet up?” he gets out with difficulty.

“How weird would that be, though?” Niall says, finally looking up.

It’s a struggle, but Zayn thinks he keeps his face passive.

“Like,” Niall continues, “what would I say? ‘Oh, by the way, I think I’m crushing on you though I don’t know your real name or if you’re even a bloke’? I’d sound like some creepy stalker.”

He remembers feeling the same way about Craic, and all of a sudden Zayn realises that all of his affection for Craic transferred seamlessly to Niall and he feels like maybe he really _is_ the dumbest person alive.

He’s been half-in love with Niall before he knew who it was and he’s listening to him discuss his feelings about Zayn without know who he’s talking about and he’s officially trash.

So he does the first thing he can think of, he knocks his cereal bowl off the table and into his own lap.

~*~

Having successfully avoided the rest of the conversation, returning to the dorm to shower and change, Zayn stays the rest of the day in his room. He makes macaroni cheese for dinner despite the faint gagging sounds Harry makes at him and begs off when they invite him out to another club.

“Ya can’t stay in here forever,” Liam pouts.

“Of course I can’t, I’ve got classes on Monday,” he says with a wink and a grin. “Oh go on, I don’t wanna watch you two bump and grind all night. I’m an artist, my eyes are important.”

They stick their tongues out at him in unison before they leave.

He spends his evening finishing his watercolour assignment, his center of interest being a near-dead tree weighed down with snow, it’s branches sagging. It takes him longer than he’d like to perfect it, using a blow dryer on ‘low’ to speed up the drying process, but he’s finally done just past eleven.

Wide awake and unable to resist the urge, he goes to his blog to check for messages from Niall. Having gained popularity in America, he’s turned off his email notifications and so he is shocked to see all of the mentions on his entire blog. It’s been so long since he’d done any work, but people are still discovering him. He forces himself to go through the comments, trying to reply thoughtfully to each one, before he lets himself find the last one from Niall.

It’s the same one he’s seen before, where Niall had so earnestly complimented him. Zayn can see now, looking back at their conversations, where Niall’s been flirting in a subtle manner. He can even see where Niall may not have known what he was doing- Zayn sure hadn’t caught on.

Against his better judgment- no well-thought decisions are ever made after nightfall- he types out a new message.

zerozone _: been researching this rock_

It doesn’t take long to receive a reply, his computer beeping after fifteen minutes of him looking up designs that will fit on the space, which seems to be about 5’5” by 8’ if his estimations are correct. It’s larger than he’d thought, and definitely more prominent.

hometowncraic93: _yeah? you’re gonna do it?_

zerozone: _i think so, think i’m gonna take requests. you get first suggestions_

hometowncraic93: _wait, really?_

Shit, maybe Zayn pushed too fast. He can’t remember how he would have spoken before he found out who Craic was. Before he can try to fix it, Niall’s sent something else.

hometowncraic93: _i’m obviously going to vote for a giant portrait of me_

zerozone: _as cute as I’m sure that will be, I’d have to actually see you first_

hometowncraic93: _that could be arranged_

Shit twice. Zayn needs to practice some chill before he lets this get too far. He takes a moment to breathe before trying again.

zerozone: _how can i be sure you’re not a cop trying to lure me out so you can cart me away to the Pen for twenty to life. nah, best to keep us both anonymous for now_

hometowncraic93: _haha mate! okay… tag something hopeful_

zerozone: _huh?_

hometowncraic93: _yea. could use something up-lifting…_

zerozone: _hmm..._

He can almost hear the sound of Niall laughing in his mind.

hometowncraic93: _too chicken?_

zerozone: _you wish. i’m full of hope._

hometowncraic93: _you’re full of angst and reflection, mate. you haven’t tagged any happy words_

Zayn wants to protest. That’s completely not true. Zayn tagged… well, he did art on…

hometowncraic93: _and any of your stencil work doesn’t count as happy. for all i know, you were sobbing as you sprayed cheshire cats and mad-hatters._

All of a sudden, everything is too much. Niall remembers _everything_ about ‘zero’ but he knows nothing about him. Nothing true at least.

zerozone: _guess it was a rougher semester than i thought it’d be. either way, i’m off to bed. Good night._

He signs off without waiting for a response from Niall, hands shaking a bit.

~*~

He really shouldn’t be doing this, but he’s never learned what self-control is and he isn’t about to practice any now.

Thankfully, Perrie’s with him for the first time in too long, the both of them in thin layers to aid in movement, though the cold is biting at midnight and there’s a fresh coat of snow on the ground. The air is dry and their eyes are running by the time they get to the right spot, but they’re buzzing with excitement.

“Ready?” Zayn asks in a near whisper as he sets his bag down next to hers.

Always serious about graffiti- even if it’s allowed, like on The Rock- she nods and unzips her bag. They’re both using spray tonight, not enough time to wait for paint to dry. They quickly lay out the base, a large burst of pink on Perrie’s side and yellow on Zayn’s.

They use their stencils for this, all laid out in order of use when they were in Perrie’s dorm, which is closer to the center of campus. She’d looked over his quotes.

“This is what you want?” she’d asked, just to clarify and with no judgment meant.

“It’s what he asked for.”

He had told her about Craic before, how they’d started talking more when he’d started excluding himself from things. She doesn’t get it, thinks Zayn shouldn’t trust people he’s met online, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

Instead, they paint quickly- too fast for perfection but they need to leave before someone else comes up and sees them. He stacks his stencils again, thick construction paper all he can afford since he steals it for free from the school admin office Eleanor works at. Though they were free to him, he still packs them away carefully.

Waste not, want not.

When they’re done and packed up, Zayn takes quick pictures of the finished look. On his side, the words ‘ _no matter how hard it gets, don’t lose hope_ ’ stand out from the yellow with sharp red letters.

Perrie’s pink side has purple accents on the pink background, and he swallows hard when he sees how perfectly and quickly she got her line up. ‘ _never live life in the fear of death’_ stands out in white stencil work and he hugs her quickly before taking pictures and packing up.

Her dorm is so near and what they did is technically allowed, so they walk back in their paint-messy clothes.

He uploads the pictures to his blog from Perrie’s laptop, captioning them ‘for him’ and crashing on Jade’s bed when Perrie says she won’t mind sharing with one of them if she comes back.

He drifts off to sleep picturing Niall looking at the pictures and feels instantly like a love-sick schoolboy again. Then his phone buzzes with a notification- Steven texting from his shift at the animal hospital- and Zayn just feels like scum.

~*~

The end of November arrives much faster than Zayn had expected. The students have been growing restless as they draw closer to Thanksgiving break. Zayn understands the holiday in theory- secular and full of food and family, though he keeps hearing something about small-pox infested blankets. He doesn’t really understand that part.

Harry’s got a friend of his family that lives in Indiana, so he and Liam are going down there the Wednesday before Thanksgiving after their classes are over. They invite him and Niall but they both beg off.

Steven offers to bring him home for the weekend- “just as a friend, if you’d like. We don’t have to tell my family anything if you don’t want to” - but he declines, using the excuse that the four days of mostly quiet will be a relief.

He’s getting on with Niall well- _too_ well, probably. He’s always nervous about slipping up, though, and saying something as ‘zero’ that Niall only ever told Zayn and vice versa. He knows he needs to tell the truth but he’s finally got his inspiration back and he’s marking up every bare spot on campus that he can see.

Niall’s never again brought up knowing someone online and Zayn doesn’t push it. He does, however, notice Niall getting more confident as Craic. He resorts to propositioning ‘zero’ at least once a week, always laughing it off online and saying he’ll try again when he turns him down. He’s happier in person, too, more like the Niall he’d observed at the beginning of the year than he’d been in the cafeteria when he’d been admitting how down he was over ‘zero’.

He’s got Steven- the perfect guy in so many ways. Steven’s driven and kind, passionate and gently. He thinks both he and Steven are in it for fun right now, but Zayn could see them pushing forward into love territory one day in the future.

If it weren’t for Niall and the stupid way Zayn’s heart skips a beat when he sees Niall or makes the lad laugh. He’s been obsessed with Niall for three months now in one way or another. He’s drawn Niall in every way imaginable, knows the shape of his wrist when he writes and the exact curve the skin of Niall’s hand makes between his forefinger and thumb.

Niall’s soon become his favourite model. Zayn is always posing him against trees or buildings if they’re out together, claiming he needs references for his paintings. Niall probably doesn’t believe him but he also never calls Zayn out for it. And Zayn isn’t entirely lying. He will use those pictures, one day.

When he’s back in East Bowling in his mum’s house and she’s cooking him up a storm because she’s happy he’s home and he’s sat there missing someone so terribly he can’t put it into words.

When did he become such a teenager with a crush?

“When you realised you’re not far off from being a teenager anyway,” Louis says when Zayn whines to him.

“M’ twenty,” Zayn says, dipping his paint brush again and bringing it to the easel in front of him.

“You’re twenty-one in two months. Old man,” Louis counters, turning to look at him.

“Stay focused,” Zayn says with a groan, walking Louis through the motions until he’s back in the same position he had been.

“This is boring,” Louis pouts, though he keeps his eyes focused ahead so Zayn can get his profile right.

“You’re the one who volunteered to sit for me,” Zayn reminds him, finishing quickly to avoid any further pouting.

When he tells Louis he can relax again, he isn’t surprised when Louis follows instructions completely, sprawling out on Zayn’s bed with his head on the pillow and a hand over his face.

“Paint me like one of your French girls,” he teases, sighing dramatically.

“Inspire me,” Zayn shoots back, still focused on the easel.

They’re quiet for so long that Zayn thinks Louis’ fallen asleep. When he looks around the edge of his portable easel, though, Louis’ blue eyes are alert, staring at him.

“What?” he asks, taken aback.

“So I was talking with Niall the other day,” Louis starts immediately, like he’d just been waiting to be prompted. “He told me something interesting.”

Expecting a science fact or something political, Zayn turns back to his painting, starting to mix new colours for Louis’ stubble. He gets a touch of red on his brush and pulls some brown into the middle of his palette, balancing it on his lap. “What’d he say, Snyder in office another term is going to be the death of a state he doesn’t live in anyway?”

“He told me he met a guy online.”

Zayn startles so hard he chokes on fucking _air_ and knocks over his paint wheel. Louis’s quick to jump up and grab it before the paint makes too much of a mess, thankfully on a discarded jumper of Zayn’s that has more than enough marks on it as is.

“Yeah, my internal reaction was similar.”

“Did you tell him?”

He’s never seen Louis mad but he thinks he’s close now. “I didn’t tell him. You _knew_?”

Feeling caught out, Zayn tries to resist the urge to panic further. He takes the palette from Louis and drops it into his paint bucket, pulling out wet wipes for their hands.

“Zayn, you know Niall’s got a crush on you and you haven’t told him? He thinks he’s falling love with ‘zero’.”

Through the vice-like grip on his lungs, Zayn somehow manages to stutter out a laugh. “That’s not true.”

Louis’ face doesn’t colour when he’s angry, but his brows are furrowed and his lips are downturned. Somehow, these two little clues make Zayn feel a thousand times worse than Louis yelling at him would.

“He can’t be in love,” he says, voice small.

It takes him a second to realise his vision is growing blurry from tears, and he looks down to where he’s scrubbing his palm pink after the last of the paint is off.

“What’s happening, Zayn? A month ago, you two hated each other and now all of this is coming up. How did it move so fast?”

Zayn shrugs and finally tosses the cloth away. He wraps his arms around himself, feeling exposed and vulnerable under Louis’ gaze. He watches as Louis’ shoulders drop and his face relaxes out, reaching out to Zayn and pulling him into a cuddle on the bed.

“Tell Louis about it,” he coaxes with a laugh, arms around Zayn’s shoulders and chin soft on Zayn’s temple.

So Zayn does. He tells Louis everything, from the beginning. How he’s been infatuated with Niall since he saw him, how he draws him all the time even if he doesn’t know it. He tells Louis how embarrassed he was the first day, how he carried his pride and anger and used them as an excuse to throw himself harder into his graffiti.

He tells him how one commenter became his muse in a way, someone to impress with his tags and his wit. How he started thinking he was crazy, devoting so much time to someone online. How he found out it was Niall and ran away from the problem, only to stumble into a friendship with him that’s slowly growing strong.

How easy it was to pretend- just for a bit- that Craic and Niall were different people until his feelings became too confusing and he just couldn’t lie to himself about it anymore. The harder he’d pulled away, the stronger he’d been drawn back in by Niall’s comments on his blog.

His throat is dry and he’d kill for a cigarette when he admits- eyes wet and burying his face in Louis’ shoulder- that he’d met Steven in the middle of this whole mess and has never sketched him, not even once.

Louis doesn’t interrupt him, lets Zayn whimper a bit between words without interruption. He runs his hands along Zayn’s spine through his t-shirt, soothing him. When Zayn’s finally done talking- emotionally drained and just wanting to sleep and forget about the whole day- Louis gets up and grabs a water from their mini-fridge, passing it to Zayn with the cap off.

“Thanks,” Zayn croaks, drinking deep.

“You’re well fucked.”

It should be discouraging, but the sparkle that’s returning to Louis’ eyes keeps some of the heat from the words and Zayn just laughs a bit.

He promises Louis that he’ll tell Niall the truth before classes begin again, and Louis calls Nick on the phone to be their witness.

“Is this necessary?” Zayn grumbles, rolling his eyes as he pats at his pockets for his cigarettes, coming up empty.

“Hiya, love!” Nick answers, grin blinding even through the speakerphone.

“Hey babe,” Louis answers, stupid smile on his face as well.

If possible, Zayn scowls harder.

“You’re on the air, so be nice,” Nick says.

“You always put me on the air,” Louis grumbles, though Zayn can not only see his delighted expression but also hear the way his voice gets smoother, like he’s trying to sound nice.

“You always call me when I’m at work,” Nick counters, sounding equally excited.

“Don’t want your four listeners to hear us bicker?”

“Nah, they’d probably quite like it, actually. What’s going on?”

“I’m sat here with Zayn, actually-“

“For those listening at home, in the student union, at the bar, in the car…”

A chorus of ‘ _get on with it_ ’ can be heard from the producer and the crew, and Zayn finds himself smiling at Louis’ besotted expression.

“Anyway, Zayn is one of lovely Louis’ lad bro pals. He’s quite pretty, chiseled jaw and eyes o’ amber. Like a knight in a fairy tale.”

“Oi!” Louis finally interrupts, smothering his giggles. “Have you quite finished?”

“I believe I have, yes.”

“Okay, you and your ten listeners can be the witness to our agreement, yeah?”

“Apparently, I just gained six listeners. For those of you who’re just tuning it-“

“ _Nick_!” Zayn thinks the voice sounds familiar but he can’t place it through the speaker, though Nick laughs.

“What’s the agreement then, love?”

“Well, Zayn’s got something to tell this boy, yeah? And he’s _promised_ that he’ll do it before classes begin again, haven’t you Zayn?” He continues without waiting for a response. “I want you to witness him saying he’ll do it.”

“You might need to let him get a word in, then,” Nick teases.

“Here,” Louis says, shoving the phone under Zayn’s nose. “Tell my loser of a boyfriend that you’re agreeing.”

“’M agreeing,” he says with a sigh, rolling his eyes and gaining a laugh from Louis.

“Hiya, Zayn!” Nick calls out.

“Hi.”

“Do us a favor, yeah? Please confirm you are not being forced into this agreement against your will.”

“I’m not.”

“Great. And Louis isn’t pinching you to make you say that right?”

“He’s a pincher?” Zayn asks, watching a flush finally colour Louis’ cheeks.

“That’s a story for our late-night hour.”

“No pinching, no gun, no force. I’m agreeing to it.”

“Alrighty then. By the power invested in me from the student college radio board, I hereby dub the two of ye… agreed.”

“Thanks, love you!” Louis says quickly before hanging up.

“You’re a git,” Zayn says, not unkindly.

Louis just smirks and agrees before relenting and handing him a cigarette, as Zayn’s still fumbling with his pockets as if one will magically appear.

~*~

On the surface, four days with no one really around but Niall should be awful. Zayn’s completely wracked with guilt every time he’s near him or Steven that he almost changes his mind Wednesday afternoon when Steven’s pulling away in his car.

Instead, he kisses him through the open window before leaning back and pulling on his hood to ward off the fat snowflakes falling from the sky. He watches him until he pulls out of the dorm’s parking lot.

Then he turns around and goes back inside, hugging the wall to avoid the students heading the opposite way with over-stuffed laundry bags over their shoulders. He passes his door and stops in front of Niall’s, knocking before he realises exactly what he’s doing.

The smile on his face when he sees Zayn is so worth it, though, and Zayn doesn’t think about Steven for the rest of the weekend.

~*~

Wednesday night, they order Chinese takeaway and stay in Niall’s room, pressed together on his bed as they watch his and Harry’s jointly purchased flat screen telly. It’s easiest the largest one on the floor and it’s weird at first without ten other people shoving their way into the room, but it’s nice. They don’t talk much but Zayn can’t stop noticing every time they touch.

Harry and Zayn are both pretty tactile, as it were, and it was easy for them to adjust Liam to having a bunch of boys always hugging and touching him. Zayn’s seen Niall and Harry hug and get into play fights over food, but the two of them have never touched so much in such a short time before. Niall’s skin is warm and soft, and Zayn catches himself twice stroking over the thin spot at the inside of his wrist.

Niall doesn’t seem to notice, dropping his head onto Zayn’s shoulder halfway through _Grease_ and falling asleep before Sandy’s transformation. Zayn doesn’t know what to do, if he should wake Niall and leave or just let him sleep, so he closes his eyes and tilts his head against the wall behind him, counting sheep until he passes out.

He’s really the best at working around hard choices and finding a way to not really choose either.

~*~

Thursday morning, Zayn wakes to find they’ve shifted in the middle of the night so they’re near spooning, Zayn’s head resting between Niall’s shoulder blades and his hand fisted in the hem of Niall’s sleep shirt.

He sits up and wipes at a spot of drool on his chin, noting his neck’s stiff enough that he thinks they only recently changed positions. Niall’s awake, rolling onto his back and looking up at him.

“Hi,” Zayn whispers. “Sorry, didn’t mean to crash here.”

Niall’s cheeks are pink in the heat of the room but he grins lazily. “S’alright,” he says, pushing his hand under his shirt and scratching a bit at his stomach.

Zayn swallows hard, watching the bump of his hand under the thin fabric of his shirt. He lifts the hemline up, Niall’s hand stilling and pressing against his abdomen. Zayn’s not sure what he’s doing when he brings a finger up to press against the barely-there hair under Niall’s belly button.

Niall sucks in a breath, his stomach going concave a bit with the inhale and Zayn suddenly realises what he’s doing. Panicked, he digs his fingers into Niall’s side quickly, the tension in the air snapping with Niall’s loud laughter as he tries to get Zayn back.

The brief tickle war is over quickly, Zayn hauling Niall back into the middle of the mattress when they almost slip off the edge. They breathe heavy for a second but it’s without the earlier mood and Zayn’s smiling when he slips into his own room a few minutes later.

~*~

They have a pseudo-Thanksgiving dinner together, one of the center campus’ cafeterias open for the remaining students. They eat with Nick and a couple girls they don’t know. One of them keeps flirting with Zayn but Niall starts calling him ‘babe’ and playing with the short hairs at the back of Zayn’s neck and the girl turns away with a smile.

He turns to Niall to thank him but he’s still looking at the girl, a hard expression in his eyes and his jaw set.

“Y’alright?” Zayn asks.

Niall seems to snap out of it, turning and smiling at Zayn as he lets his hand fall away. “Course, _sweetie_ ,” he grins.

And that’s. Okay. Clearly, Zayn’s completely unaware of what’s happening.

Nick keeps looking at him weird and Zayn shifts a bit in his seat, not used to one-on-one conversation with the older lad.

“How are you doing?” he asks Zayn in a low voice.

“I’m alright.”

“You do what you promised Tommo you would?”

He asks with a smile but Zayn still bristles. Nick must notice, because he rests a large, warm hand on Zayn’s shoulder gently.

“I only ask,” he begins, with an air of affected remorse that has Zayn anticipating a joke despite his previous discomfort, “because he’s threatened to not put out if I don’t make you keep the deal. And That would be _such_ a travesty.”

Zayn rolls his eyes but he’s relaxed anyway, letting Nick pull him away after dinner before he and Niall head back.

“That your boy you’ve got something to tell?”

Zayn ducks his head and shifts his weight between his feet. He nods but doesn’t look up.

“Don’t know why you’re hesitating, seems pretty obvious he likes you as well.”

That’s not what he expected him to say.

“What?”

“Niall can’t keep his eyes off you, mate. I don’t think you’ve got to be worried about being shot down.”

He shakes his head before Nick’s even done speaking. “It isn’t like that,” he says.

For his part, Nick accepts that and just smiles. “Well, good luck with what you’ve got to tell him, then.”

The walk home that night is a bit stiff, Niall’s hands shoved deep into his pockets and Zayn chain-smoking a half a pace back. He declines Niall’s invite to come over for a movie, watching him walk away a few paces before he calls out his name.

“I’ve got coursework I’d planned to do tomorrow, but let’s do something Saturday, yeah? Your choice,” Zayn says.

Niall cocks his head, smiling. “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Zayn confirms.

They say goodnight and he slips into his room.

~*~

Friday passes slowly, Zayn working his way through his Shakespeare essay and missing Niall acutely though it’s been less than 24 hours. He leaves the room for a couple cigarettes and a trip to one of the building’s tiny laundry rooms.

Friday passes slow, but it does pass.

~*~

Saturday, Zayn not only second-guesses the extent to which he’d missed Niall, but also regrets giving him carte blanche to decide their activity.

“Why are we here?” he pouts, in the stands of an American football game an hour away from their school. It’s one of their rival teams and Niall had scored last-minute tickets cheap. They’re in nosebleed seats but Niall is so alive with it. It almost convinces Zayn to enjoy it.

Then he remembers his bum is growing numb from the bleacher he’s sat on, his fingers are ice cold through his mittens and he’s been blinking back tears from the wind for the better part of twenty minutes now.

“You’re such a baby,” Niall teases him.

“‘S _cold_ ,” he replies.

“Yeah, come on, get in,” he says, holding out his arm and letting Zayn bury his nose in the bit of Niall’s jumper peaking over the collar of his coat.

He stays past the point where his face has thawed, liking too much the way it feels being pressed this close together.

When he does convince himself to pull back, he lets Niall explain the rules of the game to him. He understands enough, but can’t figure out what team they’re rooting for so he just mimics Niall’s noises.

Niall catches on after the first couple times, laughing bright and loud.

“Yer impossible,” he accuses.

Zayn shoots him his most winning smile, cheeky but honest.

~*~

They get home late that night, Zayn parking in their lot and killing the engine. Niall’s been quiet most of the way home, but he smiles whenever Zayn looks over so he doesn’t mind too much.

There’s just a dusting of snow on the ground, not enough to really count but enough to make Zayn grab Niall’s arm a couple times as they slip their way into the building.

“Can’t wait to see you when you’ve got to fight your way through actual snow. This is hardly the worse you’ve seen,” Niall says, the first words he’d spoken since he helped Zayn navigate to the highway back in Ann Arbor.

“Jus’ got the wrong boots on, s’all,” Zayn mumbles, kicking the build-up off his shoes before they step into the building.

They make their way upstairs, arms jostling each other though there’s plenty of room for either of them to step back. Zayn feels anticipation in his gut like he would after a first date, and he tries to tell himself he needs to calm down before he does something irrational.

Never one to listen to his own advice, he stops at his door, looking at Niall hopefully.

“So, that was fun,” he says, clutching the doorknob in his hand once he’s got it unlocked. “I think I’d better stick to going to the ones in warm weather.”

Niall quirks his lips in an approximation of a smile, but Zayn can tell the difference. He’s been analyzing every twitch Niall makes for months now, knows all of his tells.

“Come in,” he offers, pushing the door open a bit.

“What do you want to do?” Niall asks, though he’s already shrugging off his coat and stepping inside.

“Don’t know,” Zayn answers, following him and letting the door click closed. “We can put on some music or watch telly or-”

For someone who spends the majority of his time watching people- and Niall, specifically- he doesn’t quite know how he missed Niall turning around and caging him in against the door, palms pressed flat either side of his skull.

“Tell me to stop,” Niall says, almost as if he’s begging to hear the words, leaning in and bringing their mouths together.

Stopping is the last thing on Zayn’s mind.

Instead, one of his hands grips Niall’s bicep through his thin jumper, the other fitting along his hip and trying to bring him closer. He whimpers when Niall brings a hand to Zayn’s cheek, using the fleshy part under his thumb to guide Zayn’s jaw so the angle changes, Niall’s fingers gently pressing against his temple.

When his lips part and Niall teases his tongue inside, Zayn’s half-expecting the cliché fireworks that novels and songs are always talking about but they’re not there.

He gets the cliché of drowning instead.

Suddenly, he feels like he’s trying to tread water in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, warm water and sunshine all around, but he’s sinking fast, his grip on Niall tightening as he presses his skull back into the door so he can tilt his jaw up more, letting Niall take control. He feels as though he can’t breathe but he doesn’t even want to, doesn’t want to push Niall away or end this feeling.

Bright blue flashes behind his eyes- cerulean and cobalt and lapis- shades changing faster than he can name them as Niall finally lets his hips press against Zayn’s, pinning him to the door and grunting into his open mouth as their chubbed-up pricks brush.

Just like that, as quick as it began, Niall’s pulling away. Zayn slides down the door just a bit, hadn’t realised exactly how hard he’d been holding onto Niall. They’re both breathing heavy, Niall wiping at his lip distractedly, and Zayn wonders if he’ll ever forget the rush he’d felt.

“We can’t do this,” Niall says, his voice sounding loud in the quiet room.

“What?” Zayn asks stupidly, still trying to remember how ‘this’ had begun.

“You’ve got a boyfriend.”

“No. I mean. We’re not official,” Zayn mutters, Steven being mentioned acting like a bucket of cold water to his overheated system.

Niall tries to smile but it’s clearly forced. “He’s still your person and he doesn’t know about this.”

“Yeah.”

“B’sides,” Niall continues, relaxing a bit and expression less stiff than it had been, “I can’t go around getting off with my fit friends. I’ve got a mystery graffiti artist to save myself for.”

Ice, ice cold water. Zayn’s drowning now but it’s not remotely close to present. Arctic Ocean cold.

“About that-” he starts.

“Don’t tell me, I know it’s hopeless and a bit stupid. You should see the stuff he does though, Zayn. He’s got such a sharp mind and he’s always funny, though I don’t think he realises it.”

“It’s not hopeless-” he tries again.

“It is, I know it is. He’s probably a ‘she’ or a professor or something, someone completely uninterested in me. But I can’t help but think about him all the time, he’s always so nice when we talk.”

“Niall-”

“Zayn, I get it. You don’t know him and you can’t help but think of all the stories we’ve heard about online dating, but this guy’s different. I can just tell by the way we talk.”

“It’s me,” he mutters, barely audible.

It’s too silent even for crickets. The sound of a pin hitting the floor would be the equivalent of an earthquake at the epicenter right now.

“Come again?” Niall chokes out.

“I’m the graffiti artist. I’m ‘zero’. You’ve been talking to me this whole time.”

“Fuck off, don’t say that.”

Zayn ducks his head and closes his eyes. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Fucking _right_ , you should have told me immediately. How long- have you always known who I was?”

“No, fuck, _no_ ,” he shakes his head, the sting of tears threatening to spill. His adrenaline is spiking and his mind can’t process the swing of emotions he’s experiencing. “Niall, I didn’t know it was you until after Greek Row.”

“Greek Row was a long time ago!” Now Niall is shouting, his words drilling into Zayn’s head. “You’ve had so many chances to tell me!”

“I didn’t know _how_! I’d- _fuck_ \- I’d been spilling all of my thoughts and secrets to you, I’d been… God, Niall, I’d been telling you things I had never shared with anyone. It was online, I was never going to meet you, so I told you my biggest fears and I spoke with you about my tags and the real meaning behind it. Craic understood everything I was saying, even if no one else did. It fucked me up when I found out it was you.”

“That’s why you were acting so weird that night,” Niall says, almost to himself.

Zayn watches as Niall’s hands clench into fists, his jaw tight as he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn tries, but it only serves to make Niall look even tenser.

“Don’t. Just. Can you move please? I want to leave.”

Zayn stays rooted to the ground. “Hear me out, please.”

“What could you _possibly_ have left to say?”

Niall turns around, pacing the short distance to Liam’s bed before turning around and walking back. He goes just like that, walking with heavy, determined steps, back-and-forth, as Zayn tries to find his words. He’s horrified to realise he’s actually crying, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt.

Gross, but he doesn’t even care.

“I just,” he tries, Niall slowing as he listens but maintaining the pacing. “Everyone liked you so much but I couldn’t move past my pride. So I pulled away from my friends- told myself they’d have more fun with you than me anyway. And I was so bloody lonely and I missed my mum and my home and there was this person online who just _got_ what I was saying and he would message me back right away and he thought I was funny and interesting. And I liked that.”

Niall turns to face him, fists still clenched but expression almost pained.

“I liked it so much that when I found out it was you I couldn’t really process it. So I stopped tagging, stopped everything, and Craic still messaged me, still wanted to talk to me. He made me feel so good and I thought I could keep the two of you separate but I couldn’t, not when you told me about how you felt. I think I’m near in love with you sometimes, you’re the best thing about my day.”

He’s done it, laid all his cards on the table. He’s confessed all of his feelings and he knows he’s messed up but he hopes Niall can move past it, can be his friend still if nothing else.

He’ll take anything from Niall, always would.

Niall opens his mouth and lets his hands relax. Hope builds up in Zayn’s chest, his heart still hammering.

Until it crashes.

“Please let me leave,” Niall says.

Though he wants to say no, wants to keep Niall there until they’ve completely solved the issue, Zayn moves automatically. He steps to the side, gaze falling to the floor as Niall pushes past him.

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t pause at all, just gets out of the room as fast as he can and Zayn feels hollow inside and a bit like the actual scum of the actual earth.

~*~

Steven comes to his door as soon as he gets back, surprising Zayn from the novel he’d been trying to lose himself in.

It doesn’t seem to be working. Every time the author mentions blue sky or water Zayn finds himself frowning and getting pulled from the story. It’s almost a welcome relief when he hears the knocking.

Until he sees who it is and all of the guilt he’d felt the night before comes back just as strong.

“Hey,” Steven says with a smirk, standing in the doorway and wrapping his arm around Zayn’s waist.

He’s going to pull him in for a kiss but Zayn pulls back too fast. The confusion on Steven’s face is obvious but he steps inside anyway, letting Zayn close the door behind him.

“I’ve got something to tell you.”

With that, Steven’s shoulders slump and his smile turns wry.

“Niall?” he asks.

Feeling his eyes grow wide, Zayn chokes out, “how did you know?”

“You don’t ever draw me.”

Steven sits on the edge of Zayn’s bed and beckons him over. Zayn goes easily, still surprised.

“We weren’t much of anything, I guess,” Steven admits with a sigh, turning on the bed so he’s facing Zayn.

“I never meant to be such a tit,” Zayn says.

He laughs, reaching out a hand and grabbing Zayn’s. “You’re many things, but that’s not one of them.”

Zayn sighs and flops down on his bed, shoulders hitting his pillows.

“One last time?” Steven jokes, making Zayn roll his eyes and kick at him lightly.

“Perv.”

“Yeah, yeah. Scoot over, m’tired and my dorm’s so far away.”

“I’m the worst at sports and even I could probably hit it with a rock from here.”

“It’s cold and you just dumped me, now move over and cuddle my broken heart.”

Not falling for his pout when he can see the sparkle in his eyes, Zayn just laughs and scoots over as instructed. “I didn’t _dump_ you. You just want to cop a feel one last time. I’m right, you are a perv.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Steven hums, kicking off his shoes and leaning into Zayn’s side.

It’s not quite the same as they’ve been before. They’re both fully clothes and Steven doesn’t pull him into his chest or tip his head up for a kiss, but it’s nice, still. Steven must honestly be tired because he falls asleep quickly.

Wired, Zayn scoots up the bed so he’s reclining against the pillows, reaching the shelf over his head and grabbing the book down again. He picks up where he’d left off and Steven snores into his thigh.

Liam finds them like that a bit later, smiling wide.

“Hey, how was it?” Zayn asks him in a whisper.

“Good,” Liam answers, smile growing wider.

“Ugh, you disgust me with your happiness.”

He quirks an eyebrow and Zayn sighs, knowing he has to tell him.

“Short version: Niall likes graffiti-me, I like all versions of Niall and I kissed him _before_ I told him I was graffiti-me. And then Steven and I broke up.”

If it wasn’t kind of sad, Liam’s surprised face would be hilarious.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need the long version,” he finally says.

“I’m gonna need the graffiti thing explained,” Steven adds, voice rough from his nap.

“To be fair,” Zayn addresses him, “I _did_ tell you that already.”

His brow furrows as he thinks back, smoothing when he remembers. “Though you were kidding. Did you do the Greek Row one?”

“Yea.”

“And it was directed at Niall?”

Again, “yea.”

Steven laughs, nipping at his leg playfully. “Jerk, I was using that as my ‘fuck you anthem’ to my parents for a _week_. That got me through my shitty half-term paper.”

“Whoopsie daisy,” Zayn says with a shrug and a grin.

“Yeah,” Liam says from the other side of the room. “I’m gonna need the extended version of the story. The kind with a prologue and epilogue and sneak peek at the next book type thing. This is not how ex’s act.”

“Zayn, your friend is narrow-minded and judgemental,” Steven teases.

“Yea, but his biceps are larger than yours so I wouldn’t mess with him too much,” Zayn teases right back.

“Is this the actual twilight zone?”

Steven gets up from the bed, turning around and smacking a kiss to Zayn’s forehead before toeing his shoes back on and shrugging into his coat. “Since I’m so unwelcome and also desolate in my melancholy,” winking at Zayn, “I’ll take my leave gentleman.”

Zayn watches him go with a smirk, feeling calmed from the way Steven always lets things roll off his back.

“That was strange,” Liam says when the door closes. He climbs into bed next to Zayn. “Tell me everything.”

Staying calm, Zayn slowly explains his version of the semester. Liam interrupts him constantly: questioning his feelings about certain things, apologizing for letting Zayn pull away from them, clarifying dates. Zayn lets him, finds the interruptions keep him from getting too emotional.

When they’re done, it’s already dark and Harry’s made his way into their pow-wow mid-way through.

“Niall told me,” he says simply. “I knew he liked ‘zero’ and I knew ‘zero’ was you but I didn’t tell him either. It’s as much my fault.”

“No, Haz, it isn’t,” Zayn defends. “I should have been honest from the beginning.”

He waits a few minutes, letting Liam and Harry both cuddle him for a moment. He can tell they’re holding hands behind his back but he doesn’t even care.

“How mad is he?” he finally lets himself ask.

“Pretty mad,” Harry admits. “Probably doesn’t want to talk to you for a while.”

Zayn sighs but he’d expected as much.

“You should be cuddling him, then. I was a right jerk and a world-class idiot, too.”

“We’re with you right now, shut up,” Liam says, tone firm.

Zayn doesn’t protest again, letting them take care of him for a bit.

~*~

Zayn messages Niall every day for the last two weeks of term. He doesn’t spam him, just apologizes every morning and then, every other day, allows himself to send a couple pictures of places on campus he’s thinking of tagging.

Niall doesn’t respond.

He doesn’t sit near Zayn any longer in class, back to taking a seat as far away from Zayn’s as possible. He stops coming to their expat society meetings and never ends up at the same parties Zayn drags himself to in hopes of seeing Niall there.

Harry constantly assures Zayn that Niall’s okay, he’s happy more than he’s upset. He tells Zayn he checks his messages every day- Harry constantly catches him on Zayn’s blog but he says Niall won’t speak to him about it.

Something settles inside Zayn at his words. Though Niall’s ignoring him, he’s still feeling the same pull that Zayn is. Zayn continues his messages, putting thought into every word before sending them in case one can convince Niall to respond.

He doesn’t and, soon enough, exams are over and Zayn’s on a plane back home for three and a half weeks with his family before the next semester starts mid-January.

Even with the excitement of being back in East Bowling and having time with his family, Zayn never misses sending a message.

~*~

A week into break and two before his return flight, Harry calls him.

“Niall wants you to make a grand declaration,” Harry says when he picks up.

“He said that?” Zayn asks, slightly breathless.

“Well, not exactly,” Harry admits, and Zayn can hear his sigh down the line.

“Haz, what’d he say, _exactly_?”

“He called me Christmas Eve and I wasn’t going to get involved but then Liam and Louis said-”

“You all’ve been talking about this?”

“Well, I had to call them and ask what I should do,” Harry says, pout clear down the line. “I don’t want to mess with you guys but I don’t want to relive the last few weeks of term all over again.”

There are the faint beginnings of a headache forming behind his temples and Zayn resists the urge to snap. It isn’t Harry’s fault that Zayn messed up his chance with Niall. Harry’s just trying to fix things.

“Sorry,” he says instead. “What did Niall say?”

“He was pretty drunk, but he said he didn’t know why you kept messaging him when you’re shite with words.”

“Geeze, thanks for not worrying about my feelings.”

“ _No_ ,” Harry says quickly. “No, I wasn’t sure what that meant either, which is why I asked Liam and then we called Louis and he said that Niall first noticed ‘zero’ for his _art_. You should do some big tag that gets his attention.”

Huh. That makes sense.

Zayn stays quiet for a minute, ignoring the bated breath Harry is holding in clear anticipation of Zayn speaking. He chews on his bottom lip, beginning to pace around his room.

“How do I get something up where he’d see it though?” he finally asks.

“You could do something in Mullingar?” Harry suggests.

“‘s a bit far.”

“You can put things up on your blog?”

“Yeah, could do,” Zayn agrees, though he doesn’t feel inspired by that. He wants something bigger than his normal tags, wants to completely sweep Niall (metaphorically) off his feet.

“He wouldn’t have said anything if he didn’t still care,” Harry offers, clearly trying to be helpful.

“I just have to get him to forgive me. Whatever it takes,” Zayn says before they hang up, nothing really left to say.

~*~

Deciding to start with what is easiest, Zayn takes more of his spending money than he should and buys the local stores out of paint. He’ll mostly only need black, which he can buy anywhere, but he also gets a couple cans of premier spraying paint, some shades he’ll want to incorporate. Armed with his over-stuffed duffle bag and the ventilation mask he should use more often, he borrows his mum’s car and sets off.

His first piece is an abandoned barn on near the local college campus. A tag of his is already there from years before, black scribbles on an otherwise bare brown wall. He leaves it alone and drags over disabled equipment to get a height advantage so he can paint above his previous work. He chooses black again, spraying off the splatter before turning back to the wall.

_‘I was no one until you found me’_

The stencil he’d crafted quickly from newspaper and with kitchen scissors is a bit rough and he spends more time than he’d like cleaning up the edges. His hands are covered in black paint when he’d done, but he doesn’t mind. Evening’s just fully fallen, the nearest house a half-road away and no lights to shine where he’d been. He uses his flash to capture the photo, taking several shots in case he needs to combine any due to the poor lighting.

He packs his bag back up, keeping the empty black can out and tossing it in a bag he’d nicked from the bin on his way out the house.

Next, drives to Bradford’s Bowling Back Lane campus. He’s the only one there in the middle of the night, and he finds the well-lit area in front of the main entrance. Slipping his mask on before he leaves his car, he grabs a metallic silver and matte gold from his bag and gets out quickly. His stencils are in the car’s boot so he opens it quickly and grabs the one he’d made for this occasion.

Placing it on the pavement before the steps up to the building, he sprays quickly and neatly. The words are smaller and easier, and when he steps back to survey the result, he’s actually quite pleased with how the dub turned out.

‘ _he was simply a guy who painted messages in the street’_

He wants Niall to understand, more than anything, how much he-as-Craic and he-as-himself have changed Zayn’s perspective. Having someone understand his art and his words has impacted Zayn more than he’d thought it ever could. Has literally taken him from someone who was just throwing up stupid little pieces to someone who thinks about the impact his words will have.

Always, Zayn had tried to live on the outside of feelings. He’d tried to keep his distance from people who could hurt him or who may judge him. Having Craic understand him made him want to do better for the next art, made him want to say something profound.

The lights are bright as they shine down on the ground, and Zayn gets a clear picture right away so he takes his good fortune, so far, to heart and sets back off for home to upload the photos and send another apology message to Niall.

~*~

He doesn’t caption or explain the new post in any way, but in the morning there’s a text from Harry.

_he called me already, saying your new stuff was stupid._

_Once again, Haz, thank you for your tact_

_nooo, don’t you get it?! he’s checking your blog every day. he’s still interested in you!_

Zayn hadn’t thought of it that way before.

~*~

That night, he stays in to perfect his next stencil. He takes a break midway through plotting out the design, booting up his computer and scrolling through the comments on his post. He doesn’t expect to see anything from Niall but he’s still disappointed when he’s proven correct.

He decides he isn’t going to message Niall anymore, either. It’s been a month since Thanksgiving, and Zayn’s apologized using every word and phrase he could think of to convey his remorse and it didn’t get him much. He seems to be getting a reaction with his art, so he plans on redoubling his efforts there.

If Niall wants to see his apologies now, he’s going to need to work for it just a little bit, too.

~*~

Over the next week, Zayn uploads eight art pieces to his blog. His follower count is higher than ever- nothing like consistency to get your name out there- but he never sees anything from Niall.

Hating the way his graffiti makes his mum’s brow furrow and his _baba_ ’s jaw tighten, he sticks to more traditional art forms for the next few, often working into the night. He’s posted non-graffiti to his blog before but it tends to get less recognition, people preferring the anarchism or illegality of the tag work. He isn’t concerned with anyone’s opinion except Niall’s, though, and Craic’s comments litter his previous watercolour and charcoal works.

First, he stencils and sprays on canvas _‘I was falling in love and I never told you_ ’. It’s black-on-white, simple and to the point. He gets thirty comments on the post, none from Niall.

Next, he experiments with watercolours. He’s always hated writing with them, but he’s seen a negative space technique before and he roots through Safaa’s abandoned art supplies until he finds white crayons. He uses the wax to bold out the words ‘ _he stared at me like I was a painting_ ’ on one page and ‘ _you’ll remain inside an ink stain’_ on another. He makes swirls of colour around each letter until they’re all exposed, shades of red on one page and greens on another.

He doesn’t love the end results but he uploads them anyway, crediting the movie and poem he got his quotes from. He gets fifty comments the first night.

Messing a bit in his mum’s flower boxes now that everything’s dead for the season, he laughs as he constructs his next piece, knowing it’s silly and a bit dramatic but enjoying the process the same. He uses four thick pieces of construction paper, laying them edge-to-edge to make a large rectangle. He then squeezes out lines of glue to spell out ‘ _from dirt, a flower must grow’_ and uses his hands to sprinkle dirt over the letters. When it dries and he cleans it off as best he can, the effect is quite nice. There are smudges of loose soil around the edges of the paper but it adds to the overall aesthetic and he’s pleased with how it has turned out. He begs his mum for one of the Christmas flowers his _baba_ got her, taking the petals off the stem and sprinkling them across the message.

The photographs come out nicely, and he plays around with filters that night on his computer, drenching the picture in sepia and contrasting the petals in bright blue. It’s hipster and lovely and he gets only fifteen comments come morning.

But there’s a text from Harry that just says ‘ _keep going_ ’, so Zayn does.

~*~

The next night, he leaves the house quietly with his duffle bag over his shoulder. He’s enjoying using other art mediums, but nothing calms him quite like tagging does. He freestyles two on the walls surrounding the Asda parking lot, ‘ _we’re a crooked love in a straight line down’_ and ‘ _too blind to see the damage I’ve done_ ’. He has to take panoramic shots to get the words for each of the lyrics but his mobile’s a bit shit so he takes each in pieces, resigning himself to another morning spent sewing up the edges on the computer.

He uses small stencil’s he brought with him to tag ‘ _wish you were here’_ on a decommissioned ‘Bradford Exit’ road sign. It’s not been used on the highway in years, instead hanging near the front door of a local pub. He uses his mask again and stays as quiet as he can, the neon pink paint spraying quietly enough that he thinks he’d be able to hear if someone were to approach.

No one does, of course, and he tries to take a picture quickly but the flash that’s necessary to light up the words is also creating a bright spot on the sign and he’s not pleased with the results. He runs around the block to the car and grabs a flashlight from the emergency kit in the boot, jogging back to the sign and snapping as many pictures as he can before he hears a cat hissing in a nearby alley and he spooks.

Editing the photos takes longer than even he expected, but he blames most of that on his desire to make things perfect and the rest on his exhaustion. He falls asleep after uploading the three, not bothering to wash the paint off his skin.

~*~

In the morning, his page is flooded with comments and his inbox is full of messages. He picks scans them all twice, though he knows not to expect anything.

No matter, he’s got one more post planned that he hopes will be enough.

~*~

Running on practically negative sleep and with the needed stencil carefully packed away, Zayn and Waliyha take a train to Manchester to meet Doniya. They tell their parents they’re just spending the day together- not entirely a lie- and they kiss Safaa goodbye and promise to take her with them next time.

“Thanks again,” he mumbles on the train.

“Helping my big bro win back his fair and noble knight? It’s every sister’s dream,” she responds sarcastically as she taps away on her phone.

“You didn’t have to come,” he reminds, poking her in the side.

“And miss out on not only the favors you’re going to owe me for this but also the chance to have ammunition to mock you for the rest of your life? Not a chance.”

“Doniya’s doing it because she loves me,” he pouts, settling back into his seat.

“Yeah, I’m sure she is,” Waliyha scowls, never having once looked at him.

He smiles, can’t help it with the way his adrenaline is rushing through him. He’s only tagged in Manny a couple times before. It was never as large as the piece he’s planning now, and definitely not as important, so he can’t help but sink into the rush he’s feeling.

They find Doniya waiting for them once they arrive, a smile on her face as she pulls them into her arms.

“The gang’s together again,” she calls out, squeezing too tight even though Zayn’s laughing and hugging her just as hard.

“Ugh, _gross_ ,” Waliyha says when she finally pulls way, though she’s smiling and her mobile has finally disappeared. “Siblings getting along, this is awful. We just all say each other a couple days ago.”

“Come on, you,” Doniya says, grabbing her bag and pulling her along.

Zayn follows and piles into the back of her car, letting her and Waliyha chatter in the front seats as they make their way to her apartment. He keeps his eyes trained for any potential canvases.

“Hey, what’s that bridge?” he asks as they turn a corner, coming up on a bit of a backup as the departing crowd from the station clears along with them.

“That one?” Doniya points out. When Zayn nods, she looks thoughtful. “That’s a bit hard to do, but just around the corner there is an abandoned parking garage. ‘ve seen plenty of graffiti in there, I’m sure it’s got space for yours.”

“Do we have time to go check it out?”

“‘Course,” she agrees easily, crawling forward and signaling to get off the main road, turning down a back land and coming up near the garage. She parks in front of a coffee shop and Zayn leaves his sisters behind to make his way to the garage.

He manages to get inside without drawing anyone’s attention. Light streams through the slots between the columns forming walls around the structure, allowing him to see clearly enough to know there’s no room for him on this level.

Finding the stairwell, he jogs easily up to the next storey, relieved when he sees a few blank spots large enough for his stencil. He takes a couple pictures on his phone and leaves just as quickly as he’d come, sliding into the booth next to his sisters a moment later and gratefully accepting the tea they’d ordered him.

~*~

“Are you two absolutely _sure_ about this?” he asks them again as they sit in Doniya’s car outside of the parking garage later that night.

It’s completely dark around them and they’ve each got a mask on their heads, ready to pull over their face for ventilation.

Nothing can hide the way they both turn to him and glare, though, matching exasperated expressions on their faces.

“We’re going, shut up,” Waliyha says, getting out of the car first and sliding her mask over her nose.

“We’ve got to get your boyfriend to forgive you so you’re less mopey. You’ve been a right downer lately,” Doniya adds in her ‘no-nonsense, older sister’ voice she’s always used on Zayn but never on their sisters.

Rolling his eyes, he slides out of the car and grabs his duffel, leading them up the stairs to the clear patch of concrete on the first floor up.

Trying to stay as quiet as possible on the off-chance security ever checks up on this place, Zayn directs them in taping up the stencils, verifying the order before he drags them back from the wall to look over the whole thing.

Their eyes are bright and smiles obvious behind the masks when they look back at him.

“It’s brilliant,” Doniya says softly.

Zayn fights his flush and busies himself with sorting through his cans of spray paint.

“I think it’s sweet,” Waliyha says, kneeling down next to him and helping him grab out the blacks. She clarifies when he looks up, smiling at his embarrassment. “People will understand what you mean by it, I think.”

“Not ‘people’,” he says, despite knowing it will only lead to further teasing down the line. “I don’t care what everyone else thinks. I only care what Niall thinks about it- he’s the only person outside of you lot that have seen the real me. I wish I would have let him see it in person, but I’ve got all these,” he makes a sweeping hand gesture, unsure of how to continue.

“Walls?” Waliyha supplies.

“Yeah. Walls that kept me from showing him that ‘zero’ and Zayn are the same person. I just want him to get it.”

“He will, big bro. I promise.”

They follow his lead when he starts shaking the paint; the three of them quiet save for the hollow metal peas rolling around in the aerosol cans. Zayn counts out two minutes under his breath until he’s satisfied the thin paints are sufficiently mixed, and then he helps his sisters attach a fatter cap to the nozzle that’ll ease the pain their fingers might feel and also cover a larger area. They step up to the stencil, Zayn in the middle with his sisters either side of him.

“Keep about six inches away,” he explains, holding up his can and demonstrating. “Make smooth, sweeping motions. We just want to get a light coat on it, won’t take much.”

They both nod and the three of them get started. He loses track of time while they spray, his section the largest but neither of the three more important than either of the others. The stencil is huge, taller than he is and four times as wide, and many of the letters are made in the corners of multiple pages.

When he’s finished, he feels it a bit in his own hand. He watches as his sisters finish also, taking care to cover every bit of the exposed area. He’s just finished mixing a can of blue when they finish, and he drags over a portable footstool he brought for the occasion. He brought an Exacto knife as well, and he cuts away some of the stencil’s edging and sprays a quick outline with the blue- a light almost sky-like shade that he’d shelled out a bit extra for because it matched Niall’s eyes so well.

If this is his last hurrah, he’s not going to deny that he’s in deep.

He peels away the stencil carefully, piece by piece. He’s slow, knowing the paint isn’t completely dry yet but he shouldn’t have any problems with it if he takes care. When he’s finished, he doesn’t look at the wall right away. He turns his back on it, stacking the pieces of the stencil together and folding them as small as he can, placing them in a bag for the bin so he doesn’t get any of the paint on the inside of his duffel.

The position he’s in means he sees his sisters’ reactions when he looks up; sees Doniya’s damp eyes and Waliyha’s bright smile.

“How’s it?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

He knows, okay, he _knows_ that if it turns out poorly, he can just try again. He’s got the entire marked up stencil saved to his computer, he can print it out and recut it and try again.

He knows all of this, but he still is nervous when he walks forward until he’s inches away from the girls, turning on his heel and looking at the wall.

There it is, just as he’d imagined it. The black lettering is smooth and sharp all at once. Not a single patch was missed; nothing needs to be cleaned up. Even his outline- which had the potential to go very, very wrong since it was freehand and he’s been shaking since he finished with the black- has turned out well, sweeping around the letters in a frame. The blue offsets the black- though, to be fair, anything offsets black, even black. Blue is perfect because it’s for Niall and it’s _obvious_ it’s for Niall and Zayn hasn’t honestly realised until this moment how much of his art is for Niall in any of his forms- how much Niall has inspired him.

He’s tired, so very tired of staying up all night and marking up his cities. The itch to tag is slowly being replaced with another desire and he uses the excuse of exhaustion to explain why his hands are shaking too hard to take the pictures he needs.

Obviously taking pity on him, his sisters grab the camera from him. They take a few pictures, the streetlights outside harsh in their relief and the emergency lights inside the structure dim and dirty. He knows he’ll need to come back in the morning, but he has a compulsion to get the pictures as he does them. He needs to prove he was here in every way he can.

He doesn’t even realise until they’re walking out to the car that Doniya has his duffle bag over her shoulder and he’s being led away by Waliyha.

“’M not an invalid,” he protests, shrugging her off half-heartedly.

“Oi, you’re a right pain, is what you are,” she agrees, but he can hear the affection in her voice. “You’re barely coherent, you need to sleep for a week.”

“Can’t,” he says easily, slipping into the backseat when she opens the door. He’s briefly thankful they thought to put old bed sheets on the seats, because he doesn’t think twice about his paint-covered skin and clothes as he lays his head on his hands, stretched across the bench.

“Can’t what?” Doniya calls from the boot, where she’s putting away his paints.

“Can’t sleep a week. Got a flight back in jus’ a few days.”

“We know, Zaynie, go to sleep now and we’ll make sure you’re on your flight.”

He thinks he hums something in answer but he’s asleep before he can know for sure.

~*~

The morning light shining through the windows and heating the air around him is what startles him awake. He bangs his head on the roof above him, groaning as he rubs his eyes when he realises they’d left him in the car overnight.

To be fair, it’s been a mild winter and they had draped blankets over him, but it’s the principle of the thing.

He gets out of the car and bangs on the locked door to her flat before Waliyha answers with a smile.

“Before you get mad,” she starts, but he’s already glaring. “Oi, don’t look at me like that. I’ve got tea on for you and you bit me when I tried to move you last night.”

“I bit you?” he asks, incredulous.

She shoves her finger under his nose and he pulls it away to avoid going cross-eyed as he looks at the clear teeth marks on her hand.

“Whoops,” he says, smiling a bit.

She rolls her eyes but is smiling too, clearly unconcerned.

“You said ‘tea’?” he reminds with a smile, feeling loads better now that he’s gotten some actual, solid sleep.

~*~

Later, with some tea and brekkie in his system and after a much needed shower, he and Waliyha slip back into Doniya’s car. They’ve left enough time to go back to the piece before their train arrives, and they let him run in on his own with his camera.

It’s just as stunning as he remembers, and he doesn’t even feel narcissistic for saying so. It’s massive, practically an e2e with the amount of the wall it’s covering. The nearest tags are far enough away that they don’t pull focus as he lines up his shots, standing back as far as he needs to get every word in the frame.

_‘we are who we are when no one’s watching’_ is slashed across the concrete wall in two lines, a beautiful shade of blue enclosing it and making it more dramatic. He takes some detail pictures for himself, standing close enough that he can see the bumpy texture that appears smooth from a distance.

The sound of a horn honking pulls him out of his thoughts and he realises he’s been stood there longer than he’d planned, tracing along the curl of the g’s edge. He leaves quickly and ignored their teasing as he gets back in the passenger side, looking at his pictures on his camera and trying to keep his anticipation at bay.

~*~

The reaction to it is remarkable. Dozens of comments and notes start filtering in, overwhelming praise for his pseudo-calligraphy style of writing. He’s got quite a few people praising the quote specifically, and that warms him from the inside. He’s not the best with words- Niall called it true when he’d said that- but he’d spent a long time with a few lines in his head that he had to get out.

Under his picture is the whole bit he’d written, not very many lines but enough that he hopes Niall can see how hard he worked to be better with words.

Harry, Louis and Liam all conference him on a call, speaking over each other loudly until Zayn hangs up on them- can’t handle their disjointed ramblings though he does miss them all terribly.

Liam calls back- of course he’s the one they must have picked to deliver whatever news they’d been rambling about.

“Hey,” he says, sheepish through the phone.

“Hey, _Leeyum_ ,” Zayn mumbles.

“So, Niall called Haz,” he starts.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, sucking in a breath.

“He’s going crazy, mate. He’s so gone for you, Haz is _sure_ of it. He’s just mad, a bit, and hurt still.”

“Did he actually say that, Liam? Did he actually say he was considering forgiving me?” Zayn needs to make absolute sure.

“Haz says he didn’t have to.”

“Ugh, I need to talk to Harry,” he says, saying goodbye to Liam quickly and dialing Harry.

“What did he say _exactly_ ,” Zayn hisses, pacing around his room.

He can _hear_ Harry’s smile and it makes him want to tug at his curls.

“He _said_ ,” Harry starts, “that he fucking hates how much you affect him, still, and he wishes he wasn’t so mad about you.”

And that’s just. That’s the rudest way anyone has ever indicated they’re into him and Zayn wants to cry with _relief_ about it.

“Zayn?” Harry laughs down the line when he’s been quiet too long.

“Yeah, m’here.”

“I’ve got Niall’s flight info off him. He’s spending the last couple days with mates in London, so he’s flying out of Heathrow. Let’s try to get you on his flight.”

“Only happens in movies,” Zayn reminds him, sat on his bed with his head down, trying to calm himself down.

“It happens in all love stories,” Harry corrects him, hanging up without another word.

~*~

How Harry managed to actually get him a seat on Niall’s flight is both impressive and a bit terrifying, but he somehow manages to do so. Zayn spends a small piece of his savings to switch from his flight with a layover to the nonstop one Niall had booked, but it will all be worth it if Harry’s story is true.

He hadn’t agreed with it at first, feeling too much like he would be forcing Niall to deal with him on the eight hour flight without having an option to get away from him.

“I’m not a _miracle worker_ ,” Harry had said over the phone. “I didn’t get you the seat next to his or anything. You’ll just be able to talk to him in the terminal and maybe shout a bit across the plane.”

Zayn hadn’t been reassured.

“Worst case scenario, just pretend it’s a coincidence,” he’d advised when Zayn had continued to express doubts.

“I don’t want to lie to him anymore.”

The pause after his words had been long, and Harry had finally- after so long of quiet that Zayn checked the call status twice to make sure they were still connected- said, “I’m glad you don’t want to lie to him anymore. That’s why I know you’re going to convince him. You’ve changed.”

With Harry’s stamp of approval- if he’d ever _not_ had it- Zayn finds himself saying goodbye to his family fourteen hours earlier than he’d planned, a fact his parents remind him of as he’s kissing everyone goodbye.

“You promised I’d go on an adventure, too,” Safaa pouts at him when he hugs her.

“I _promise_ ,” he says, the near –decade between them in age never causing him to belittle her, “I will take you on a wonderful adventure when I get home.”

“Maybe to meet your boyfriend,” Waliyha teases with a smirk, biting her lip and looking down when their mum glares a bit.

“Don’t talk about you planning on leaving when you’re actually leaving,” she frets, pulling him into another hug.

“I’m not going to _war_ , mum, I’ll be back.”

She’s not crying just yet but Zayn knows it’s only a matter of time, and if she cries then _he’ll_ cry and maybe even his dad, so he kisses her twice on her cheek and hugs her tight before getting into Doniya’s running car.

He waves out the window as they drive away before his sister smacks him on the thigh and makes him sit down.

“You’re annoying,” she says, though he can see the way her eyes are crinkled at the corners.

~*~

The airport is _packed_ ; Zayn’s never seen one half so busy. He gets through security with hardly any time to spare, and he looks around his terminal before he boards but he doesn’t see a familiar shock of blonde hair.

Trust Niall to change his flight after Zayn’s finally talked himself up to change _his_.

He’s filing down the narrow aisle to his seat when he sees Niall, sitting in the middle row on an aisle with a family of three next to him. He’s seated on Zayn’s side, and his eyes get wide when he sees Zayn pass.

“How-“ he asks, face getting red.

Zayn has to keep shuffling by, people behind him probably not willing to witness a grand declaration before their seated, but he smiles softly and simply says, “Harry.”

It must be explanation enough, because Niall nods and shifts a bit in his seat, looking over his shoulder at Zayn when he gets to his aisle seat four rows back. The two people between him and the window are already there, and he waits for the people behind him to pass before stowing away his carry-on in the overhead compartment.

The two people he’s sat next to don’t seem to know each other, the woman blushing when their elbows bump on the armrest between them. Zayn sees the way the man smiles at her and he tries to prepare himself for their potentially-sickening romantic beginning just in case things with Niall don’t pan out.

But the Zayn leans to his left, clearly to get a better view of the stubborn Irish lad, and smiles when Niall’s already looking back at him.

“Why are you here?” Niall asks, voice a bit louder than normal to carry over the sound of the passengers settling in.

Zayn shrugs.

“Gonna need more words than that, mate.”

He bites down on a sigh, knows he deserves Niall’s impatience but really wishing this was more like the movie Harry clearly intended it to be.

“Thought you said I was shite with words,” is what he offers.

He gets a genuine grin out of Niall, though it fades fast. “You kind of are.”

“I wrote the last one. I wrote a whole… poem, I guess, though it feels like lyrics. I wrote it for you and it’s a bit shit but it’s completely genuine.”

Niall looks at him a long moment after that but then he turns around and puts in his headphones. That’s that for now, Zayn supposes, and he leans back in his seat, thinking of the next thing he can say to convince Niall how much he’s trying to fix what he did.

He didn’t come all this way to give up on the first attempt.

It turns out he doesn’t need anything prepared, because a couple minutes later there’s an unmistakable voice- still loud though it’s much quieter now- saying, “You’re still kind of an arse.”

He grins despite himself and leans over the side again. Niall’s not quite smiling, but his expression is open and it’ll be enough for now.

“Thought I was a prick,” Zayn teases.

Niall rolls his eyes but finally smiles. “That, too.”

They’re silent for a minute, drawing looks from the people around them, no doubt, but Zayn doesn’t really care.

“I’m truly, genuinely sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he says after a moment, Niall’s grin growing strained but still a hint of it on his lips. “I was completely in the wrong but I was scared I would lose you.”

“Lose me or lose Craic?”

And that’s a fair question. Zayn takes a second, wants Niall to know how much he’s thought this through.

“You and Craic used to be separate in my mind. Once I knew who you were, I couldn’t- for a long time- really grasp that you were him,” he admits. “But I know better, now. I see how _you’re_ the person I fell for, not some idea of a person on the internet.”

He doesn’t know what he expects from that admission, but he waits- near holding his breath- the silence around them somehow deafening.

“All that, huh?” Niall says, hardly above a whisper.

“All that.”

“Guess I should probably forgive you, then.”

“I mean, I’d like that,” Zayn says, letting himself be a bit cheeky.

“What if I don’t, though. What’s the next step? You can’t just graffiti all of East Lansing until I forgive you.”

“First of all, I sure can and would. I’d tag up all of Michigan if I thought it’d work. And second, you’re going to forgive me. Probably now.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Cause that’s what happens after someone makes a grand declaration.”

Niall rolls his eyes, though his cheeks are bright red again.

“That only happens in movies.”

Zayn bites his lip around a stupid grin, knowing he’s going to have to thank Harry forever for what he says next.

“It happens in all love stories.”

There’s a couple sighs from some of the people near them, a bit of laughter farther off and even a couple groans in what Zayn can only assume is second-hand embarrassment for his cheesy words.

Niall is the only thing he’s focused on, though, and he smiles wider and brighter than Zayn’s ever seen, the tips of his ears pink as he undoes his seatbelt and half-trips out of the cramped aisle. Zayn meets him halfway and gets his hands on him again the way he’s been wanting to since that night over break, one palm soft on Niall’s hip and the other wrapping around his wrist.

“You’re gonna kiss me and then we’re going to try to live this story down for the rest of our lives,” Niall says around a laugh.

Zayn goes to speak- something truly witty, he’s sure- but he finds himself leaning in to press his lips against Niall’s, soft and sweet like they’ve not kissed before. He pulls back before he’d truly like to, aware of the eyes on him and thankful his blush is hard to spot. He can’t stop staring at Niall, can’t keep his fingers from kneading gently into his skin through his clothes to remind him that he’s actually touching Niall, actually right in front of him.

Niall’s the most interesting subject he’s ever sketched, the flaws in his crooked smile something Zayn could focus on for hours and never, ever perfect. He can feel where his own tongue is pressing against the back of his teeth as he laughs with Niall, ducking in for one more quick kiss on Niall’s lower lip.

Then a flight attendant is ordering them back to their seats for takeoff, there’s a smart arse clapping somewhere a few rows up, and Niall keeps turning his head back to look at him while they fasten their belts and prepare for the flight.

They spend the rest of the flight together- thanks to the passenger next to Niall being willing to switch with him- and they spend the whole flight whispering and trading sweet kisses. They’re both exhausted when they pile into a cab at the airport, Zayn thankful he’d listened to his mum’s advice about avoiding long-term parking at the airport.

They climb what feels like a thousand steps until they get to Zayn’s room, using the last of their energy to switch the power back on and bundle the duvet in case any dust has settled in the last few weeks.

Niall tucks himself into Zayn’s side once they’re finally able to collapse on the bed, asleep within minutes. Zayn looks down at him, tracing his thumb over the pout in his lips. He wants to draw him, always wants to draw Niall, but the desire isn’t overwhelming and he doesn’t understand why at first.

Then he shifts just a bit, just enough to curl onto his side and pull Niall into his chest, and he realises he isn’t manic with the need because- for once- he doesn’t think the moment will pass. He can draw Niall in the morning, can sketch him over breakfast or lunch. He can wait a week and use paints to capture the strong brow bone, and Niall will still be here.

So, Zayn _will_ draw and sketch and paint and spray and ink Niall’s features into every surface he can find. He’ll just. He’ll start tomorrow.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My tumblr tag for this story is [here](http://sa-voix.tumblr.com/tagged/crooked-love) and my ask is always open for questions, comments, prompts and general discussion.
> 
> I realized after the story was up that I didn't use the last draft my betas sent me, so I'm fairly confident the last quarter is riddled with typos. For that, I apologize. That is my error alone.
> 
> A lovely user drew a doodle [here](http://i.imgur.com/RMgmZly.png) and also made a fanmix [here](http://anna-wa.tumblr.com/post/121578033874/fanmix-for-the-zayn-niall-fanfic-crooked-love-in). Thank you so much!!


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